


Writing Practice: Zootopia

by The_Random_Casual



Category: Zootopia (2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Comedy, Crossover, Dark Comedy, Drabble Collection, Feedback Wanted, Gen, Gritty, Light-Hearted, Multi, Other, Realistic, Snippets, Tragedy, Violence, Writing practice, a bit of everything
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-20
Updated: 2017-12-03
Packaged: 2018-06-03 18:48:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 56
Words: 57,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6622180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Random_Casual/pseuds/The_Random_Casual
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a collection of drabbles, snippets, ideas, or whatever you call self contained scenes that are not one-shots. Some may continue on between submissions, some might be AUs, some might just be vague ideas that I am fleshing out. All need some feedback, critique, or other food for thought. They will focus on anything and anyone, from WildeHopps shipping to the Zoodystopia/Zistopia AUs. Please leave a comment, I am curious as to what people think have merit!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Ballad of Benjamin Clawhauser

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let me tell you a tale, let me answer a question, let me bring to light exactly who Benjamin Clawhauser is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Written quickly, was beta'ed, though personal edits are not in depth. Will continue to edit and refine if I spot problems.

Benjamin Clawhauser grew up in Savannah Central, near the distract walls in a little gated community called Grassy Fields. His mother worked as a receptionist at a Lemming Brothers branch, and sometimes he had to go to work with her. Father Clawhauser was a express courier who worked for PawEx.

It was nice. Benjamin went to Scrub-Cover High, and he joined the Ham Radio club in his freshman year. He was popular, even given his nerdy hobby. He knew everyone's name, and no one had a bad thing to say to this big lithe Cheetah boy who gushed about the latest Pop Star or sport spats brand. He even got a pair signed by minor league pawball player Jon Dewclaw. He played center forward for the Scrub-Cover Rushers his junior year, and made a game winning penalty kick in his senior year.

And through it all, he loved to help others. He stayed after class to help his teachers clean up. He organized study groups. He helped his fellow student athletes balance their training and their homework.

When he graduated he could still run a thirty for ninety seconds and bench two-ten, and it was no wonder he gravitated towards Officer Pelt during career day. Join the ZPD and help make tomorrow a safer place.

Police Academy was not like high school.

In his youth he found easy success, here he wound up "dead" more often than not. He hated heights, the cold, and years playing pawball made his reflex move when taken to ground was to roll onto his back and evaluate. In sport, that was for safety.

In combatives, it meant being dead.

But he persevered.

He passed 42nd out of a class of 67, the class of 2010. First in radio operations though.

His mother and father were so proud. So proud.

Benjamin Clawhauser was assigned to Precinct 1, and he couldn't complain. His probie year went by without a hitch. His training officer didn't need much to mold him, such an open minded and accepting cheetah would make a fine field officer.

By winter of 2011 he had done himself proud when they took him off probation. Eighty-eight successful safe arrests, with a verity of foot chases, tickets, and rowdy drunks between.

His own squad car, his own cruiser. Rolling down the street, flashing those blues and reds. Though the good times couldn't last forever.

Critical Missing, Leona Redmane, lioness cub snatched by a dead beat dad with delusions of grandeur and a ruined Christmas in his wake.

Officer Benjamin Clawhauser spotted the beat up mini-van. He spotted that missing lion cub.

He doesn't remember much after. Smoke and fire, screaming. He's screaming.

They tell him that the dad caused a four car pileup on the Rainforest 110 Overpass.

They tell him he couldn't stop in time, and flipped his cruiser.

They tell him he is a hero.

Officer Benjamin Clawhauser, hero cop, who pulled himself out of his mangled wreak of a car and saw that beat up mini-van bashed through the concrete guard railing and hanging half off the overpass.

Officer Benjamin Clawhauser who ran to that vehicle and pulled it back onto the road and held it there even as the engine caught fire. Who held on long enough to allow back up to arrive, for the FDZ to get on scene and pull that little cub out of the wreak.

She was going to be fine. She was going to be fine.

Smoke inhalation, a broken wrist

She was safe and back with her mom.

Cracked ribs, torn ACL, and one slipped disk.

All in all, not a great butcher's bill for that horrid day. His ribs would heal, the city would pay for rehab, and the chiropractors.

So it was like that, he spent his Christmas. His folks were glad he was alive...and Mrs. Redmane packed him a savory cricket cake.

It was delicious...

2012 saw Officer Clawhauser do his rehab, and come back to Precinct 1 with a little orange bottle of pills. Chef Bogo put him on desk duty, milked his fifteen minutes for what it was worth. Benjamin didn't mind, the new probies always brought donuts, and the guys were always paying for drinks. It was easy to get comfortable.

It was easy to stay comfortable. His knee always let him know when it was going to rain...but the cruisers were never the same. Always smelt like someone smoked too much in them. Or vaped or whatever.

But it was fine. Fine to get comfy, and be that friendly face that greeted every visitor. Fine to get a second helping, the girls in the secretarial pool always made the best muffins. It was fine to let Clawhauser run the front desk, he was great at it.

It was fine...and when 2013 rolled around, Leona gave him a great big hug when he showed up for a special presentation. She laughs and he laughs, as he lifts her on his shoulders and tells the class what he does, what the ZPD does. She tells him he is such a BIG soft huggy cat.

Little Leona wants to be a cop just like him...he smiles and tells her she can...the kids all laugh...

Maybe it's best he doesn't remember that day too much...His desk is comfortable. And he does something he loves. It doesn't really matter. Every day is a day to smile.

Margy is making muffins this Friday and she making her special icing.

Old Sarge Riverson throwing down his annual Smokehouse steam off.

And every Christmas, Mrs. Redmane sends him a savory cricket cake, just like the first, when he was laying back in that hospital bed...

Just like the first, it is delicious.


	2. The Movie Rights

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Always keep a controlling interest in all rights you plan on licensing, otherwise things might happen...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Written quickly, not beta'ed, and edits are not in depth. Will continue to edit and refine if I spot problems.

_Nick Wilde felt the sting of bursting plastic, a cold burning fire on his skin, and for a moment he knew regret.  
  
He could smell Judy's bloody wound, feel her paws on his back, as the world squeezed. Suffocating, crushing, deafening, drowning.  
  
The rising panic, the damp sickly heat, the death of his self. His civility. His everything. Neurons misfired, his brain boiled.  
  
There was no burrow, no female, no safety. It was too early. Was hungry. Hungry. Prey. Blood. So close. It was in his space.  
  
His Space!  
  
"Nick! Stay with me!"  
  
Noise. Prey was making noise. Noise noise noise! CLOSE! _  
  
_But...this...this wasn't prey...pounce...noise meant something...dumb...bunny._  
  
"This...is...so...stupid." Police Officer Nick Wilde frowned as he watched a test roll of some pretty boy band arctic fox trying to get into acting, stop just short of biting into a definitely made bad choices in regards to film roles B+ starlet.  
  
It was melodramatic. Dumb. And utterly what not happened, as the brave bunny heroine tamed the beastly fox with the power of friendship...they got rid of his blueberry idea.  
  
"Shush you. It's your own fault." His partner Judy Hopps giggled as she tried not to fall to the floor and laugh. Oh, oh this was delicious, as the two actors stood up and let the stunt actors come in. Oh. Oh, she was going to have a kung-fu fight with Bellweather?  
  
"Based off a true story, what the hell! Mike screwed me! It's nothing like our bio!" Nick raged as he threw said bio at the wall, the film being showed off the bullpen projector. It was lucky enough they took the graveyard shift for this, what would the others think?!  
  
Why oh why did he think watching this in widescreen was needed?!  
  
"It's your own fault Nick. I told you to wait." Judy replied as she watched her movie self fall in horror as Bellweather than ATE a whole clip of Night Howler pellets. It was getting funnier by the minute, oh, oh and crazy Nick was going to fight the now mutating ewe?  
  
"And I told you that you need to move out of that rent controlled broom closet you call a apartment! This was our ticket to Downtown high rise lofts! Owned and paid in full! Places with doormen!" Nick seethed.  
  
"I'm calling our agent!" Nick then howled as he stood up and gnashed his teeth, his tail puffing up as he flailed around.  
  
"You're our agent Nicky boy." Judy bit her lip and tried to channel her church going pose, paws in lap, back straight, try not to get excited. Nick gargled as he slowly deflated and collapsed and rolled around on the dirty briefing room floor.  
  
Then there was a little sniffling.  
  
"Oh...oh...shhh...shh...it's okay. It's okay." Judy smiled as she got out of her chair and sat herself down next to Nick, she petted his head and shifted him onto her lap.  
  
"Now...who's a dumb fox?" Judy offered as she let Nick curl up around her a little.  
  
"...me...I'm a dumb fox..."  
  
"It's going to be okay Nick, we'll have a talk with Mister Harbor and we got a couple weeks vacation time, and we can fix this." Judy said softly, smiling at his dismay.  She reached up for the remote.  
  
Click.


	3. The Cold Open

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This actually might turn into something more, a little idea on the back burner. Things are percolating, a story is forming, consider a first draft of a pilot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Written quickly, not beta'ed, and edits are not in depth. Will continue to edit and refine if I spot problems.

"It's a mess in there." Bogo commented, turning to his two best detectives. Rainforest District SWAT had cleared the building, the victims were being loaded up by the double loaded gurney. This was...big. The CSU team had set up a small air lock, if you could call it that, a tent and dry plastic sheet that could act as a staging area for those...brave...enough to enter.  
  
"What have we got here chief?" Nick Wilde asked, pulling his the hood of his department issued rainjacket up. The words Police emblazoned upon his shoulders, he sipped at his lunch coffee. Judy Hopps stayed silent, surveying the response. Dressed in her gym workout set, she was barely able to find her old meter maid vest in the trunk of her car on the rush down.  
  
FDZ, ZPD, City Works, CDC, was that even Sanitation and Health and Safety? A Panther with what looked to be the CDC ran out into the rain, his plastic oversuit crinkling as he vomited in the pouring rain. A Ram coworker waddled behind, his own plastic suit a puffball in comparison. He patted his friend on the back. Judy stayed silent.  
  
What in goodness' name happened here?  
  
"Ruined forensics, RFD Works still haven't shut off the rain. Got nine vics so far. Lab boys say they think there's at least trace from maybe a dozen or more vics uncounted for." Bogo replied, as he tossed the two of them forensic coveralls. Not the full set, with self contained oxygen or NBC seals, but still...it was worrisome. Face masks and googles.  
  
It had been a old private high school, before district restructuring had left the area a industrial zone. Families moved, the school itself sold the property to the city for storage. No one came down here, and it had been left to rot for years. Leaks, puddles, and mold was everywhere.  
  
This was the set of the next slasher flick, not something...real.  
  
Though, there were signs of real organized activity. Someone had hooked up lights. New doors and locks.  
  
"Some stallion working at ConEd noticed this place was drawing power off the grid last night, so he decided to a inspection. Found some sick stuff..." Bogo commented darkly as they walked past the various techs from the various departments working on things. New plastic sheeting had been brought in to contain the scene.  
  
He opened the door to what had once been a old boy's locker and shower. It was the title they needed. Made clean up easier.  
  
"From what we can tell, some beast was holding rams and ewes down here..." Bogo finally said, Judy bit her lip at the scene before she calmed her heart and looked over it with her veteran eyes.  
  
There was loose wool everywhere...and this place...it was wet, humid, and cool enough...  
  
"We able to ID the vics?" Nick asked, compartmentalizing himself a tad faster. This was urban legend, stuff you told the new guys when they made their bones and got to sit at the big table. It wasn't...real...  
  
"One. Yanni Ramstein, veteran out of the National Guard, did a tour overseas with Air Cav. Still had his tags, he's on the way to Central. Already checked, he's a Section 8, panhandles the 6th and West ZLR station downtown from what the guys working Patrol knows. Going to be a while before he'll get the meds he needs. Last I heard he needed surgery, he fought back it looks like. The rest are in the same boat, no missing mammals reports for any of them, and those that are talking need psych evals. One of them bit Delgato..." Bogo explained morosely, his voice dark and stormy as he glared at the scene.  
  
Nick stood back and let Judy get a good going over on the scene. The rabbit was light on her paws, and had a eye for detail that had grown over the years.  
  
She picked up a missed spot of black wool.  
  
"It's going to be one of those cases..." She commented, turning to look up at Nick.  
  
***scene cuts to opening credits***

 


	4. Another Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Before you leave the house every morning, you should take a look in the mirror and see yourself as the world sees you.

Officer Nicolas Wilde, he stared at himself. Every day, before he went out the door, he paused. He paused and took a breath.  
  
Never give them a reason to doubt your ability. Never give them a opening. Never let them know you're a step ahead.  
  
Mom would have been proud.  
  
Nick relaxed, smiled softly, and he turned for the door. There was nothing that needed to be said, there was no one to talk to for that matter.  
  
Carrots was waiting for him, as usual ever since she bought that beat up old Possum piece of crap. "Eighty thousand miles" his tail, but he doesn't say anything.  
  
Carrots loved the piece of junk, and she always has his Chai Tea with lemon waiting, so he doesn't say anything.  
  
"Morning," Carrots smiled, holding out the tea in question.  
  
"The thing with Snarlov still on for tonight?" Nick took the tea and blew on it, she always got drinks extra hot. Another thing to look into when he has time.  
  
"Yeah, Fangmire's got it covered." Confirmation, perfect. Schemes abound, and not even his, or even Carrots. Hustles were a thing of beauty unto themselves.  
  
Her bug of a car rumbled and knocked, less than usual, that farm girl in her knew something about engines. Might as well been magic hamster gnomes to him.  
  
The drive probably killed the department's entire carbon credit budget, and she was a little slower than the bus...but you couldn't lounge back on a bus.  
  
Nick sipped at his tea, his mind wondered and his eyes flicked about. There were hustles to be made anywhere...surprising how often it came up as a cop.  
  
Being able to read animals was most of the job, like right now. When they are parked underground, and Carrots manually locks both doors with her key, he's on his way inside.  
  
Get the morning's BOLOs before going to the bull pen. Saved time, Carrots would sign in with Clawhauser for him. Being able to read animals, right. Into the cube farm, Delgato should have the papers.  
  
Nick glanced around. Delgato still looked like someone stole his sweetroll and ate it front of him, shame. You strain your back and you have to come to work a hour early. Plus he's stressed out about something it looks like.  
  
His in and out box are squared off at the opposite corners of his desk, not touching. His papers are all lined up by right angles in relation to his computer. His stapler, pen cup, and lamp make a line pointing towards him.  
  
Lion's getting angsty about something. Probably about tonight, Delgato's promised to pull through on this. Nick made a note to send Higgins in, make sure his partner wouldn't spill the beans.  
  
"What's the word?" Nick smiled.  
  
"You would know better than me, still out there with Hopps?" Delgato was really getting angsty it seemed, he sounded wistful.  
  
"Nah, you know Jude, she's got me buried in paperwork." Nick shrugged it off, yeah, Higgins needed to take this cat out for a drink before he went stir crazy.  
  
New BOLO, looking for a senile old wolf who went missing last night...that would not be fun. Nick was already on the way back, was better to just make a full circuit around the precinct than double back.  
  
Just past the offices, and Admin, and towards the lockers. Past those and you'd circle around to the bull pens. Looked like he'd have a walking companion at least.  
  
Grizzo changed and showered at the station, he ran before he got on shift, health nut of a Rhino. He was wearing Old Fashioned today, meant a date. Never had luck with the ladies, probably because he thought Old Fashioned was sexy and not grandpa smell.  
  
"Going for it tonight buddy?" Nick asked as he thumbed through the other BOLOs. The usual, gang affiliated sheep skipped bail on a dealing charge. Caution about a gang of car thieves after specific models, high end stuff, better warn Flash about that. Wanted for Misdemeanor Burrowing?  
  
"You know it. Got myself a hot date, met her on that new KO-Dates app. It's awesome." Grizzo pulled out his brick of a smart phone, three gens old already, and still works. Said something about his care...and his cheapness. Nick nodded.  
  
He'd make sure to tell Clawhauser to hide the legit doughnuts and put out the nonfat ones. Station didn't need Grizzo feeling sorry for himself AND getting gas from all the baked goods. For a Rhino that's cry at the drop of a hat, and eat a bucket of ice cream after his dates, he bounced back mighty quickly.  
  
Not that it mattered. Nick followed Grizzo into the Bull Pen, he hopped into the usual seat. Carrots was already prepping that little notebook of hers, and that carrot pen. She thought he didn't know about the Blueberry version she hid in her locker, waiting for Christmas.  
  
Oh, how he loved the Hustler. Bogo was stomping in, salutes abound. Nick settled down after the nod.  
  
"RIGHT! It's time to let the cat out of the bag." Bogo started...  
  
"Snarlov." Bogo smirked, he pulled out a wad of paper work. "Congratulations on completing department mandated sensitivity training, it's time to get you back out there..."  
  
"Urm..." Snarlov looked up, the snow panther a bit unsure.  
  
"And yes. Happy birthday..." Bogo lost the smirk, Nick pushed a elbow into Carrot's side. Make sure she didn't get that smirk. The Bull Pen schooled themselves.  
  
"..." Snarlov looked around, his ears drooping...  
  
"And?" Bogo asked, cocking a brow, looking at him over his glasses. Snarlov's ears folded back, he turned to Francine. The elephant shrugged.  
  
Nick glanced back, a look of sympathy on his face. Oh, if that leopard only knew.  
  
They were going to all have so much fun tonight.


	5. Training Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When you police a city of over twenty million animals, you must be ready for anything, as Probationary Officer Nicolas P. Wilde is going to find out today.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Written quickly, not beta'ed, and edits are not in depth. Will continue to edit and refine if I spot problems.

Busted tail light. Probably a failed smog check. It was nothing serious. Should have been nothing serious.  
  
Probationary Officer Nicolas Wilde tugged slightly on his sleeves, he wore a Service Set A uniform while his Training Officer Riverwatcher wore the usual High Vis Street Patrol gear. Riverwatcher was sixteen year veteran, traditional Grizzly Bear who probably got a cut of that tribal lands casino money if his name was any indication. Nick never asked, it was something for a rainy day, and not that it mattered right then and there. As Riverwatcher flanked around, to get eyes on the shotgun seat, and what appeared to be a sleeping passenger in the back. Covered under blankets, and a bit too still. Nick held the ticket machine, he was making his bones with Officer-Citizen interactions today...and now he was making his bones surviving the mean streets of Zootopia while wearing those dark blues.  
  
Long sleeve blues, spats, no pads. Tie and cap. Duty belt, concealed vest. It was Nick's preference, a combination of approachability, his grooming habits, and that it made animals unconsciously put him in categories. Less militarized, desk jockey, neighborhood beat cop, nostalgia trip...soft. Inattentive. Naive. He smiled slightly as he leaned in towards the driver's side window, the junker sedan smelled of Nip and Paint Thiner. The blood shot eyes of a ocelot met his, shaky yellow orbs with that frenzied confusion that characterized addicts coming down and slowly crawling into withdrawl. There was many things to worry about.  
  
"Sir, I hate to tell you this, but your left tail light is broken. Can I see your license and registration please?" Officer Wilde asked kindly, like it was his fault that the tail light was broken. Sound soft, sound kind. Most thought foxes were trickesters, and it influenced how they acted with him all his life...but he knew what power a uniform was, a symbol, a tone of voice. A glance and a smile. The impression you were newer than a newborn's cry and you could be tricked. The ocelot's teeth clicked together as he nodded.  
  
"S-s-s-s-s-s-ure." Ocelot had a stutter, was that nervousness? A personal tick? Or a life of drugs? Other things to worry about, many things to worry about...license and registration.  
  
'Look concerned' Nick thought to himself. Give him a edge, criminals loved to take a mile if it looked like they were given a inch...though with addicts, you never really knew. Either they were too stoned to notice, or they were paranoid, or any number of things.  
  
Surprisingly enough that was not something to worry about just then.  
  
The cheap ass Saturday Night Special half concealed under a newspaper was the biggest worry, Riverwatcher didn't have a angle with his height and his literal angle. Second was the Ocelot just speeding off and clipping him. A trip to the ICU and broken bones. Drugs had ravaged this cat, patchy black and grey fur and rashes, probably meant brittle bones and compromised muscles. Claws were probably as strong as crackers. Nick Wilde smiled, violence was a last resort, and triggering violence was not something he wanted on his second week riding shotgun. Third was the passenger, passed out get high friend or was there some hopped up crook with a sawed off under there ready to blast?  
  
Nick Wilde grew up a petty little snot nosed kit with delusions of grandeur, after the first few beatdowns, he grew up a cautious hustler. Building himself up, he graduated to White Collar work well before he met Judy. How to work the system, rather than do what foxes were known for. It came in useful in his life as a cop, even if he was still a baby cop. He knew how to memorize number and letter sequences, and read upside down. There was a phone number written on that newspaper, 144-555-0909. This ocelot's name was Vance Rounds, License Number ER435667, address 1212 Stoney Street, Apt #12B. Tenement in one of the Rainforest District's low income neighborhood. A tiger by the name of Khan ran a book out of the bar on the corner of that street, and the neighborhood belonged to the Dye Alliance, small time street outfit with weird ideas about color. It paid to know various territories, and getting access to the daily police bulletins and flash alerts just rounded out Nick's knowledge base.  
  
If he ever made detective and got a password, why...later, not now.  
  
Nick made a show of considering his ticket machine. He milks it for all his noob worth, some weak willed copper who doesn't want to ticket some poor stuttering charity case...he ain't jaded yet and working off a qouta.  
  
Nick wonders if it is even worth it, can the ocelot even notice?  
  
"Everything seems to be alright, now, I can give you a ticket, but seeing as I don't want to spoil a good day. If you promise me you'll get that looked at today, I can let you off with a warning." Officer Wilde said softly, giving a smile he had been working on. He called it the Earnest Carrot. The ocelot licked his chops, before he nodded. Nick felt his inner tension release, hustled. With that, he stepped back and Riverwatcher gave him an appraising look. Nick merely returned with a sure nod, and a thousand dollar smile. Riverwatcher as TO led the way. They walked back to the car, careful not to turn back.  
  
"Any reason you let that tweaker go Fox?" Riverwatcher asked conversationally as he climbed into the driver's seat, and Nick climbed into shotgun.  
  
"Didn't want to risk the gun coming into play Sir, he had one under a newspaper on the front driver's seat. He's definitely shady, and escalating would have put lead in the air. He lives in the RD, and the car's a sore thumb, we should call it in and get some backup sir." Probationary Officer Wilde replied to his Training Officer.  
  
"Obviously, given the DB smelling up the backseat. Hmm...good job, Fox. Last rook I trained got his eye slashed first time he tried to bust a tweaker on a routine stop." Riverwatcher chuckled slightly at that.  
  
Nick didn't pale at it, one didn't sell a skunk butt rug to Mister Big without knowing how it was on the streets.  
  
The junker pulled away, and Nick sighed as he tugged on his sleeves and adjusted his tie. Four more weeks, he'd get assignment into District One patrol. That was all that mattered.  
  
He wondered if Judy knew how she had missed out on these experience? He barely made the lower end of Medium Predator, she had been Small Prey. And a MIP darling. She didn't get a training officer. There wasn't time to find one before the Night Howlers and the Missing Mammals case.  
  
Introspection came with success or failure, it was something that came to Nick always...his first real bust...hopefully it would be a success.

 

 


	6. Making Your Bones

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Life on the streets of Zootopia is a hard one, life as a cop even harder. When a child goes missing, no one will feel unscathed. As Officer Judy Hopps will find out today.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Written quickly, not beta'ed, and edits are not in depth. Will continue to edit and refine if I spot problems.

Judy Hopps was top of her class, through middle school, high school, college, and the academy. Valedictorian. She was a rabbit driven to succeed...she was even head cheerleader in Senior year of High School. What most would call a popular girl, and over achieving Type A.  
  
BA in Criminal Justice, qualifications on all aspects of police work. Pursuit Driving, hand-to-hand, air-arms, firearms, impact weapons, tactics. She was slotted for a try out for Sahara Town SWAT next month, SWAT didn't extend invitations lightly. You either had to have previous experience in the military with an active deployment under your belt, or you had to be a officer noted for being able to handle themselves well in crisis situations. Physicality came second to Temperament.  
  
Nick probably would not have fared well under those assessments, or maybe he would? Judy entertained the stray thought, he was still six more months in his academy time, and then two months with a TO. Bogo had assured her, that he would not get thrown into the deep end like she did. Or rather, he wouldn't get a chance to throw himself into it like she did. Not that he would, no, Judy knew Nick well enough for that now. She was his tutor, and his best friend. He'd claw his way to the top like she did...or else.  
  
The stray thought, became a web. Judy Hopps spun it masterfully, in her own opinion. Her blindspots while cut down, still existed. Nick helped with that. He made sure she didn't loose sight of things. Yes, Judy thought, it was better to think about that, rather than what was going on around her...she had enough thoughts about it enough. Even as she walked upon dry leaves and moist dirt, and memories of her childhood sprang into the mix as well, she had enough thoughts about the dirty backpack found under a rock.  
  
Half hidden, with a big distorted paw print showing it was kicked under there. That dirty little backpack with the Mega Power Robots cast on there, in their silly little space suits. Ricky, the pilot of Red Robot, was smiling and giving a thumbs up even with a hole from a errant claw in his snout. She had called it in dutifully, a half mile back, marked it with a flag for the crime scene boys. Her little brothers and sisters loved that campy ass cartoon. Other parts of her had noted the details, for later. Animal, of the none-hooved variety, between her size and Fangmire's by the size of the paws. Was ill kept on claw maintenance, and was not sophisticated enough to realize they'd leave evidence. Too stupid, too much in a hurry, too panicked, take your pick...Who didn't know about paw prints?  
  
"Hopps, over here." Fangmire called, he had Scent Tracking Quals, best nose in Squadron 1. The grey wolf was leading her deeper into their Grid Square in Zootopia's Grand Central Wild Nature Preserve, 30 Square Miles of forest and rivers.  
  
They had called it Critical Missing, thirty hours on. Some chapter of the Rangers off doing camping stuff in what was considered the biggest park in Zootopia. Really, it was more of a national forest than a park. Little wolf pup by the name of Billy Dewlap had gone missing from the back of the group. The ranger master had not been paying attention, who's idea was it to only have only two adults in charge? There was suppose to be another adult, but he had called in sick...and now...little Billy Dewlap was gone. Thirty children walked in, only twenty-nine came out.  
  
Judy knew in her heart, that when she found that pack, that little splash of color among the browns and greens of the preserve, that Billy Dewlap was gone. Fangmire knew too, he had been working Patrol near ten years now. He seen things like this before. Though given what she saw during the Missing Mammals case, he didn't need to tell her how far some animals could go. Either in brutality in the moment, or by craven thought and premeditation. The two of them, assigned to Grid Square G15, deep in the middle of the reserve had held out hope the little cub had wondered out this deep. It had been a easy sell, the easiest sell, in the face of two weeping parents, and the resources of Central's District 1 Police House through on to Sahara Square's air unit.  
  
...Nick was first up in protocol, procedure, and the practical penal codes...and the scholarly ones too. Like her surprisingly. It was one subject that he didn't need help on. Fangmire was leading them to a pond. Nick could cite procedure at her like he was reading the book out loud, from the most obscure to the most relevant. Even she hadn't remembered what the procedure on resowing brass buttons onto their Dress Blues were. It was a over lapping stitch. A call for divers from the Marine Division. Nick was doing good, even if he was overly cautious most of the time. Old Ironlungs was still a Muzzlebook friend, complained that he liked to dance around too much. Too afraid to hit an animal. Better too cautious, than end up on shaky cam with a bad story falling apart.  
  
"Oh..." Fangmire said, turning his head. He pointed towards the reeds.  
  
"Oh..." Officer Judy Hopps replied, her voice soft, as all those stray thoughts and the web they built fluttered away.  
  
It was time to get to work. She took a breath, she counted to four, she let it out. It was time to get to work.  
  
Officer Judy Hopps didn't reach for the radio on her shoulder, instead it was to her phone. She went down her contacts list. There would be no sound bite on the evening news, no overheard tidbit that some news vulture would steal out of the air...at least...that was her hope.  
  
Her voice cool and collected, determined rang out with a finality as Fangmire press the base of his thumb between his closed eyes, and muttered a prayer to the Old Gods of the wolves.  
  
"Chief. We found him...we need Doctor Pearlmonger..."


	7. The Inevitable Grim Dark Post Apocalypse Fic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Written quickly, not beta'ed, and edits are not in depth. Will continue to edit and refine if I spot problems.

Judy Hopps stared at herself, her eyes a dull sheen, her fur greasy and patchy, and her stomach so empty.   
  
Day nine hundred. Was it worth it to see nine hundred and one?  
  
She still wore the old colors, High Vis Street Patrol gear. Her vest was more duct tape than kevlar, her pants and shirt more patch then cotton.  
  
The gun she carried she had stolen from the evidence locker on day twenty, when Bogo let them all go...it was over he said.  
  
There had been nothing left to hold on to, nothing left to protect. Find your families and run...that was what he said on the PA system...Clawhauser found him hanging by his belt a minute later.  
  
A recording on his phone, so no one could have found him.  
  
Without a doubt, he had the right idea, he had not lived to have to survive all...this...  
  
Not like her...not like Nick. Judy Hopps looked to the other room, her little warren safe for now...Nick safe for now.  
  
He wasn't safe though...he was quiet though...Judy slowly trudged towards Nick. Or what had been Nick.  
  
Blank eyes looked up from where he had been collared, a bolt riveted to the bare concrete floor, and a muzzle locked on.  
  
Snap!  
  
He leaned forward, and tried to bite at her, unaware that he could not open his mouth, that his hands were zip cuffed behind him, that he had no hope.  
  
Ho...all he was, was dead and hungry.  
  
The infection had taken him, and now...now there truly was no going back. Judy leaned out, to touch his ear. The bite that got him. That notch mocked her.  
  
"It will be okay Nick...it will be okay..." Judy whispered, as she crawled around him. He batted at her, his muzzled face dug into her shoulder. She hugged him close.  
  
"Only dreams now..." She had no tears to give, everything had been spent. Her thumb cocked back the hammer.  
  
BAM!  
  
Nick Wilde opened his eyes, the sound of glass breaking, a body hitting the floor, and the lightening woke him up. Judy had been staying at his condo, had she slipped and hurt herself?  
  
crash. crash. More glass breaking...  
  
"Carrots?!" He called out as he stumbled out of bed, his boxers the only thing he wore. He scrambled downstairs. The living room was a mess, she must have taken a bad spill or something, but where was she?  
  
A light from his kitchen. He padded over with haste, and found a disturbing sight. Judy was staring at a running faucet, a look of pure amazement in her eyes, and his chef's knife in her hand.  
  
His fridge had been opened, it's contents laid bare.  
  
"...nnnnickkk?" She mumbled as she turned to him, a dead look in her eyes. Those eyes put the fear of the divine and the unholy into him, a hellish deadness that did not belong on his friend's face.  
  
"Carrots...Judy...what's-what's going..." Nick resolved a action plan, if she charged, he would try to control the knife and nothing else...  
  
Judy shivered. "tttthhheree'ssss waater.'  
  
Her words were slurred, was she having a stroke? A psychotic break? Silent tears formed in her eyes. She dropped the knife...and then she dropped herself.  
  
"Judy!" Nick cried as she collapsed into a limp pile. He ran to her.  
  
What the fuck just happened?


	8. The Day You Wonder

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyday, when you strap on your badge, you wonder. Is today the day?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Written quickly, not beta'ed, and edits are not in depth. Will continue to edit and refine if I spot problems.

Judy loved their pursuit cruiser, it was big, strong, fast. A darling with only ten thousand miles on it, she adored this cruiser. Hotel-14, sure, the jokes got old, and with Nick finally partnered with her, the boys and girls of the presdigious Squad 1 were hazing them, but it didn't matter. It was all good. This was the fast-track to a Detective's Shield, hell, being in the elite Squad 1, Bogo's hoof picked patrol officers, that was already career making...but no, she was a bunny with plans. With so many plans, she'd have her Detective's Shield in two years, her Captain's Pips in ten years. She'd be a inspiration, the MIP would make the world a more inclusive place...and she was sitting pretty, with proof that things got better.  
  
Nick didn't really notice his partner's daydreams. Well, he did, "Eyes on the road Carrots," that easy dream popping reminder, no he and her had a groove for that. No, he was busy with his various feeds. Stocks, sports book, news, social media, the new Match Three tile game. His high score was safe, as he threw a leg up to brace against the passenger side dash and braced for Judy's short stop. She only got him like one in four times now. Heh, he smirked at her. She smirked back, before they continued on, down their beat along Central Main, the long straightaway a haven for speed freaks during slow traffic. Whenever Moogle's Zaze app posted no traffic, you were bound to find a few young idiots racing down on their custom bikes. All neon glow and plastic bodies, no matter that every once in a few months one of them turns into a smear on the asphalt.  
  
Nick is keeping a eye on Zaze, clear traffic for eight blocks. That's bound to draw a few of the speed junkies out. He is keeping a eye on it, so he is not the one that notices the parked van in front of the Bank of Zootopia branch, engine running with no driver. He's not the one to notice the weight of the suspension sagging, as if there was a big animal in the back. He is not the one to notice, the muffled crack of a gunshot. Of many gunshots. Judy's eyes dilate as her ears swivel towards the bank, as she instinctively thumps her paw, once, twice, trice. Nick knew what that meant, danger, don't freak out. He sees it immediately, his eyes flicking up from the little screen. Looks like some crew with some brains, lookout hiding in the back of that van.  
  
Watching. Waiting.  
  
Judy doesn't turn on the lights, no she drives down, like she is wont to do. Some dumb cop, just passing by. They turn the corner before Nick is on the radio, and she's doing a U-Turn and sliding up to cover.  
  
"Central, Possible 2-11 on eight thousand block on Central Main, Hotel-14 responding. Requesting backup, Code 2-High. Hotel-14 Over." Nick's voice was smooth, steady, as he reached for the switch under the radio that would unlock the cruiser's carbine. A old 9mm war surplus piece that probably saw most of its life in a wooden create somewhere while its siblings served in various conflicts. The empty magazine well looked cavernous, hungry...his paw was already reaching for one of the three magazines they were issued.  
  
"Hotel-14, clear copy, showing Hotel-12 and Hotel-15 responding. ETA four minutes. What is your six? Over." Dispatch always patched in Clawhauser when Squad 1 responded to anything more than a fender bender. He would bring in Bogo, if it warranted is attention.  
  
"We are at the corner of Central Main and Telungoo-" Was all Nick could have gotten out, as the back van doors opened. A big bull, wearing a red ski mask and a poof winter coat was toting a military style assault rifle and taking aim. Judy could see what looked like a police radio unit, frayed wires and cracked screens behind him, and she could hear him call out, back to the bank.   
  
"we've been made!"   
  
**BRATATATATATA!**  
  
The windshield shattered, as she ducked down and pulled forward, her paws dragging the wheel into a turn. Nick was down, scrunched up as well, hiding behind the armored door panel on his side. Glass flew as Judy did her best to pull into the middle of the street, and throw on the lights and sirens. There needed to be some sign not to drive down this road. Otherwise civilians could get into a cross fire, never mind SOP was to pull back, never mind that she and Nick were not expected to face up to this kind of threat.  
  
This was what SWAT was for.   
  
"Shots fired, shots fired! Officers taking fire on Central Main, suspect armed with automatic weapons. Eyes on Male IC-BB wearing a red mask and green winter jacket." Nick's voice didn't deep, still smooth and steady as he gripped his arm rest tight and Judy threw the cruiser into park. Judy and he needed that backup, he could not fuck this up. Even as his window turned into so much shrapnel over his head, as he could feel the vibrations coming through his door. He was not going to fuck this up.   
  
**BRATATATATATATATTA!**  
  
"Plate number Bravo Victor Niner Niner Six One Six!" Judy screamed over to him, she was getting out. Her body protected by the wheel wells of her car, the engine block too. She reached out to drag Nick out. He was fine, but he went limp as his side dragged across the center divider with the old surplus carbine in its mounting. His free hand tugged at it, and there was a slight snap as its wire stock crumbled against its mounting brace. It would do. He was flat on the ground, radio bungee straight.  
  
"Help is on the way Hotel-14! We have all available units in bound!"  
  
"Copy that." Nick replied, letting go over the radio as Judy armed up. Three mags, sixty shots. Well, one mag, twenty shots. Nick was reaching in for the other mags, as he felt something red hot bit into his shin. It didn't matter, as he found the two things. Judy was already slapping the magazine and pulling the bolt.  
  
"POLICE! DROP YOUR WEAPONS!" She screamed out, not that it would do much good, it was what was expected. SOP. She didn't duck out, pop out, or jump out. No she curled up, making sure not to leave the safety of the wheel well. The hot black asphalt singed her fur, as she lay back and started to take pot shots.  
  
**Pop! Pop!**  
  
Miss. Miss. She had to take a breath. She was aiming high, dust spraying from the BoZ sign above the door.  
  
**BRATATATATA** - _silence_.  
  
Her eyes instinctively closed as she felt something bite into her face. Divots in the asphalt spraying stone and grit into her left side. The shooter was out, her brain supplied.  
  
The dispatch was screaming for their status as Nick popped the trunk release. They needed more ammunition. There were another three magazines in the back.  
  
"COVER ME!" Nick called. Judy nodded, and she did the unthinkable. She leaned out.  
  
**Popopopopopoppopopopopoopopo!**  
  
She dumped the mag into the back of that van, the bull cursing as he scrambled into the driver's seat and his partners made their appearance. Two more bulls, yellow ski mask and green ski mask. Poofy winter coats all.  
  
Assault rifles all. Nick grabbed the ammo can out of the back, and Judy locked onto a empty magazine as the two bulls opened up.   
  
**BRARTATATATATATATATATATATATATATATATATATATATATATA!**  
  
Spraying and praying. Nick felt something whiz by his ears, and something sparked off the open trunk lid as he ducked behind the other wheel well.  
  
Judy was already pulling the old mag out and slapping in a new one. Twenty shots, no hits, she felt like cursing herself. She had scored Expert on her firing qualifications. Her eyes glanced to Nick, as he tried wrestle open the ammo can.  
  
His pants were soaking wet from blood, a angry looking gash on his shin leaking out his life. He didn't seem to notice.  
  
"NICK! NICK! STOP THE BLEEDING!" She urged, not noticing her own blood that was flowing down her left cheek. Sirens. She could hear sirens.  
  
"IT'S NOTHING! FIRE BACK! THEY'LL FLANK IF YOU DON'T!" Nick retorted as he started to feel a red hot burning in his leg. Judy didn't have to be told twice, as she went back to engaging the targets. They weren't piling into the van. Why weren't they piling in? Judy wondered as she aimed, and took a breath. Hotel-14 would probably never drive again, as wheels popped and the whole thing started to list. The engine was smoking and clanking. The two bulls were not letting up.  
  
Is today the day they would not go home?


	9. The Inevitable Grim Dark Post Apocalypse Fic, Amazement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a idea, might turn it into something. Perhaps time loops...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Written quickly, not beta'ed, and edits are not in depth. Will continue to edit and refine if I spot problems.

The warren had been compromised. There was noise. There was not suppose to be noise. It would have brought a wave. So much noise. Animals. Cars. Raiders. Where was the gun? Why does my body feel so heavy. I'm drooling.  
  
I can hear the blood pounding in my head. Where's my belt? Where am I? Darkness, but light, where was that light coming from. Get up Hopps, get up. Survive. Another day. Another day. One paw, two paw. Like the academy.  
  
Something soft and smooth under my claws, I can't get a grip. Something breaks. They'll find me. They'll find me! Crawl then. Crawl! Crawl for Nick. Nick. Where's Nick? Did he get loose? Nonononononononono.  
  
Find a weapon...I'm not in the warren. Kitchen. Kitchen. Knife block. Most raiders didn't bother with the knife block. This place is...is...clean. So clean...knife. I need a knife. A weapon. Can of expired food. Whatever.  
  
Get up. The doorknob. Get up. Snap. GET UP! Knife...the refrigerator was humming...I know this knife...why? Open the thing up. Cola. Greens. Take out. Shrimp. Milk. Eggs. Where am I?  
  
Dare I try? The faucet. Where am I? It's smooth, lift up...water...clear water. Not brown, not black, not dust. Water...how come I am not hungry? This...  
  
"Carrots?"  
  
This is Nick. He's there. He's there. He's there. He's okay. He is okay.   
  
"...nnnnickkk?" My mouth feels numb. I feel numb. I can't think. This...this is water...  
  
"Carrots...Judy...what's-what's going..." He is okay. He is okay. He isn't wasting away. He isn't telling me to get the muzzle out of the cruiser. He isn't going quiet...  
  
He needs to know we have supplies. There's supplies. Food. So much food. This is a godsend. This is so good. We will be fed for a week, maybe more. This is so good.   
  
"tttthhheree'ssss waater.'  
  
Why is my face wet...Nick is okay...he'll take watch. He will protect me. I can sleep. Another day. I can't stand up any more.  
  
"Judy!" It will be okay...you're here Nick...it will be okay.  
  
Sweet darkness.  
  
This is a lie.


	10. It ain't like the movies.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It is not guns, knives, claws, teeth, or muscle that take out the most officers in Zootopia, it's cold hard Detrot steel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Written quickly, not beta'ed, and edits are not in depth. Will continue to edit and refine if I spot problems.

Two years on patrol, Judy Hopps had not gotten her shield. At a cool twenty-six years, she was a career hare with aspirations and expectations. Plans changed, and she rather liked patrol. She knew the neighborhoods, the regulars, there were opportunities. Precinct 1's various SWAT teams were all welcoming. It was not a joke, that one could call her the most accredited rabbit on the force...and now, she was learning the ropes of High Risk Warrants and Emergency Response. There were a lot of things a rabbit could do that was useful to a SWAT commander. Mostly it involved crawling into deep dark holes with a drill and fiber optic camera.  
  
Judy flashed her lights, a some old granny wolf driving with her blinkers on. A quick warning and maybe a welfare check. Where were her thoughts? Ah, yes. It surprised her when it was Nick who decided to take a position with not Robbery-Anicide, Intelligence, or hell even Vice. No, he had been snatched up by Special Fraud. Made sense, he had spent most of his adult life skirting the technicalities. He knew things that qualified him for a CPA and Business Law degree. He was not so much a puzzle solver, as he knew how to make them. He would do good there.  
  
A promise to reunite as partners in two years was outstanding between them, stepping stones. Career stepping stones. On the way to Major Cases, it was their shared root after all.  
  
Hard of hearing wolf, off to the pharmacy. She's a little shaky, and full of vinegar. Judy can't not maybe take her in. License is expired, and this granny is no where near the pharmacy. She steps away to check Yowl. Place has been closed for a year. Maybe it's time to get the EMT and a social worker down here. Eyes on her phone, she doesn't see what happens next. She doesn't see the bright yellow Lambo driven by a frat bro of a deer, messing with his doefriend. A bit of shirt caught on his antlers.  
  
Her dash cam does, it records without hesitation or bias. As she stands at the corner of a old huge sedan, the kind of fuck off gas guzzler no one drives any more, she doesn't see the Lambo going eighty come into frame. There is no time, no chance, as the two ton steel brick slams into her and sends her flying. The thing screeches and there is a elderly cry, the Lambo gets onto the sidewalk and the granny's rear fender is smashed in.  
  
There is barely a pause before phones come up and the Lambo speeds off, missing most of its left side.  
  
Officer Hopps is down, struggling to rise, paws clamoring for a radio as bystanders start to gather. A few taking pictures or video as the rabbit on the ground struggles to breath. She is still alive, she is still alive. She struggles with her vest, her chest. It is to her credit, that she had been seen, as 911 calls flood in. About her. Some cop smashed by a hit and run driver. It is too her luck, that a med student is near, still in scrubs from their class at a nearby teaching hospital. Ribs and bones are broken, skin and fur lost, all Judy Hopps knows is pain before everything goes dark.  
  
She will wake up in Saint Peter's Teaching Hospital, her chest and hips in casts, and no memory of what happened to bring her there.  
  
It is just as well. Judy Hopps is a rabbit with aspirations and expectations, and she has a promise to keep.


	11. The Good Old Bad Days.(Pushed)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When you push, and push, and push...whether it be in the name of the all mighty dollar, a uncaring god, or some all consuming cause...do not dare think that something cannot, will not push back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Written quickly, not beta'ed, and edits are not in depth. Will continue to edit and refine if I spot problems.
> 
> Wrote this just because I wanted to do something dark, don't read too much into it. OOC behavior is probably here...you just need to wonder, what would it take to break a good person into this.

How long has it been since you were put into this car trunk? Hours? Days? You can't tell, your stomach is empty, and you feel so thirsty. The heat had sapped the life out of you, and you couldn't even pant. Not with the duck tape all around your muzzle. The rough potato sack around your head.  
  
Why was this happening to you!? You didn't do anything to anyone. All you can remember is big paws and lots of stings. Are you going to die here? These thoughts keep you awake, as more and more time passes...the sound of a cell phone dying somewhere behind your head, muffled by the trunk itself greets you.  
  
They're going to crush this thing, like in the movies. You are going to die. You struggle, you would chew your arm off to get out of this. Like what they said the ancient ancestors did. Survival at all costs...you are not so brave...you begin to doze off...  
  
The car lurches and jumps, the engine starts. As big animals get into the driver and passengers' seats. What's going on? They're taking you somewhere. The drive is slow, you can hear traffic now, freeway, tunnels. Then you feel cold. Oh sweet merciful cold. It is like you are alive again...but that's no hope.  
  
You have to fight. That's...that's what you have to do...you have to fight. So that's what you do, you kick and squirm and you thrash when the trunk opens, even if you are so tired, so thirsty, so hungry, you do something. Because all animals want to live. And you want to live.  
  
Those big paws are back, holding you down, dragging you out. Howl, yowl, scream, they don't seem to care as you struggle against the tape.  
  
"Thank you gentlemen." Came a soft female voice, small animal. You can't smell anything, only tape backing and...and water? It's cold here. There are no other words, as those big paws hold you down. They make you kneel.  
  
"You probably don't know who I am." The voice said before the sack is ripped from your head. The light, it's too bright. This place, it's so shiny. Ice everywhere. A big paw smacks your ear and forces you to look at someone.  
  
It's a rabbit...a little girl rabbit. She is sitting in front of you, on a big folding chair. Dressed in what look like thrift store hand me downs. Big purple eyes look down at you...it would have made you bristle, but you are in no position to think about that...she is doing something with some rope in her hands.  
  
"You probably don't even know why you are here...I will educate you on that soon enough..." She looks familiar. You don't know why. You really don't know why. But she looks so familiar. It's on the tip of your tongue. Did you go to high school with this psycho? She locks eyes with you as she works that rope.  
  
"...my grandfather was a monster." She says, you feel a sharp shiver down. This is going places you don't want to see. This doesn't happen to real animals. This happens to freaking Steve Bullscemi and what's his face. Her paws don't stop, and your eyes flicker down to them.  
  
Another smack.  
  
"Don't you dare look away." Came a growl in your ear. Heavy and rumbling, arctic. It promises bad things. The rabbit is smiling over your shoulder when you look back, and when she locks eyes with you again you don't dare look away.  
  
"He was the Exalted Fury of the Sacred Brotherhood of Sint-Niklaas before The Great War, he was a hateful little thug, who did bad things with his brothers. So many bad things. He told me those things, told me of the good old days. He hated animals like you, just because you breathed...he hated animals like you, even when he brought home a Fox after the war. After all his brothers died, after all the young bucks in town died. He hated even when he earned brotherhood with a fox...and I don't blame him. It was a different time." She says, never breaking eye contact, not even blinking. The world is just her two deep purple eyes.  
  
"He showed me the pictures, tried to show them to his grandchildren...show us our...heritage. He died bitter, and only my father went to his funeral...when I was young, I couldn't understand how some animals could be as hateful as him...but...now...now I know that the hate...it runs deep. It runs in the blood...and...well...I thought it didn't run in me." She says as she lets the rope fall off her lap. It hangs there. A noose. A Hangman's noose.  
  
"I thought, I would make the world better, and lock away all the monsters. I would be the hero rescuing the innocent. I thought so many things...I am thinking so many things." She leaps off the chair and she leans in so close she is pressing her head towards yours. A little tiny voice in your head says try and bite her, headbutt her, do something...but you are too afraid. You are afraid, as she takes one of your ears and pulls you closer.  
  
"My grandfather dug foxholes with a fox, he named his son after a fox, and he hated foxes. He hated foxes, wolves, shrews, sheep, rats, mice, cows, pigs, deer, lions, tigers, and bears. He fucking hated everything that wasn't a rabbit...he was a complicated man, I know that now...I accept that now. That things are not black and white, that there is...ambiguity. I know for a fact, he murdered three animals before he went to war. He lynched a wolf that had wandered into Bunnyburrow looking for work and salvation. He burned down the warren of rabbit that rented out to weasels. Shot a carpetbagger trying to get the migrants to organize...I thought I wasn't like him...because...I didn't hate..." She is hissing like the devil, the snake in Eden giving the forbidden fruit of knowledge to the world. She is the devil, come to take your soul.  
  
"Well...that's no longer true...because I HATE you. I hate you with the power of burning vitriol and empty rhetoric that my grandfather clung to when he died. I hate you because it gives me some meaning, it allows me to make some sense in the world...I hate you from the depths of my soul..." She tosses your head back, and stalks away. You can't breath, it's too much. You feel faint, but those big paws at your back don't let you. They tug your ears, and keep you wide awake, and you get to watch as she saunters off and throws that rope up over a shelf support strut. It hangs out, really high, she has to jump up to thread the needle.  
  
"And...that brings me back...to why you are here. You are here...because you are responsible. YOU are responsible." She points at you, and you scramble to think, what could you have done? What could have brought this down on you? This...this has to be a mistake...but it's not.  
  
She comes back.  
  
"You told all those lies. All those lies that got all those animals hurt. You should have told the truth...but no...you were...greedy."  
  
It hits you right then. What she is talking about...that...that shouldn't matter. It was just nuisance stuff. A couple of cut corners, no big deal. It...it was no big deal.  
  
"You got my best friend hurt....you destroyed him...you ruined him...you ruined me...you're the only one that will get to know...because...you'll be the first. You'll be the message..." She motions, and they drag you up...no...no. They can't. You try to dig in your paws, your claws, you scramble. The floor is too slippery, it's too icy. Bears. Bears have you. Polar bears with grim faces. One of them drags the chair the rabbit was sitting on over to the rope. NONONONONO!  
  
"...be glad I am not my grandfather. It will be over all too soon." The Rabbit says, as she climbs up on the shelf, and she loops that rope around your neck.  
  
You remember. YOU REMEMBER NOW. Years ago, on the news, you saw this rabbit. Some big thing back in the Teens. You saw her. What was it about, what was it about?! The rabbit jumps down, the polar bears step away.  
  
She's...she's...She's a co-The rabbit kicks the chair out from under you. You think you hear a crack, before everything just...stops. Darkness comes down. From the edges of your vision...you fade.  
  
"Koslov...thank you....thank you...please...please give Mister Big my thanks as well..." Noise, wisps of noise. You slip away into the big nothing. 


	12. The Only Easy Day, Is Yesterday.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When you walk a beat, you need to be ready for anything, whether it be some nipped up feline with their claws out...or a bloody street miracle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Written quickly, not beta'ed, and edits are not in depth. Will continue to edit and refine if I spot problems.
> 
> Also I know there are scaling problems...unsure really how I can fix that...

Foot patrol was always worst in the summer, even in temperate Central, where it didn't get past 98F most days. Though today it was a whooping 103F...It really was the worse, especially if you were Judy Hopps. Judy Hopps who has worn High Vis Street Patrol gear every day on the job since she started. The expensive synthetic weave should have kept her cool when it was hot, warm when it was cold, and let her fur and skin breath when she ran. Too bad that the stuff had a two year expiration date and her replacement sets were still being delivered through Central's Supply Service. No, it really was worse for the dumb Bunny, who sweated underneath her kevlar and duty belt and all the damn pads.  
  
It was only a god send that she had such big ears, the heat sink on her head the only reason she was not passed out at the moment. That and her inane fantasy of making her long time partner, Nick Wilde burst into flame with her mind. He always wore a Service Set, A for long sleeves, B for short. Today was B. Though, instead of a real tie he wore clip on now. It was cheaper and safer that way. He was whistling dixie, enjoying the sun...whether or not it was a facade to annoy her had yet to be determined. Knowing him, he had some sort of elaborate device meant for storing pawcicles and was holding out on her.  
  
It would only get worse and worse, as the sun started to reach it's zenith. They'd have to start advising any homeless to start to seek shelter, and maybe ask the kids to stay inside. It was only a godsend that no one was out and about now, most at work, at school, or just staying inside with the AC on blast.  
  
Only the city workers on the front lines were out. Oh, how Judy's heart went out to their comrades in arms. The utilities guys, the street cleaners, the social workers, and the garbage men...  
  
"OFFICERS! OFFICERS!" The high vis yellow of a city garbageman's vest waved at the end of the street, the chubby hippo waving it about. His coveralls wrapped around his waist given the heat. It was a little hypnotic, how he rolled his hips. He stood in front of his smoking garbage truck, the front end open and the engine sizzling. Though by the sound of things, it wasn't engine problems that needed help.  
  
"Central, this is Hotel-14 on Foot Patrol, show us responding to a flag down by a city garbageman. Over." Nick called into his shoulder. He left first contact to Judy most days, a lot of animals felt more comfortable with a bunny than a fox, even a few years into the MII.  
  
"Clear copy, show your responding. Over." Came the soft voice of their dispatcher.  
  
"What's going on, sir?" Judy asked softly, lopping up and looking up at the hippo.  
  
"Geez, our radio's down 'cause the engine's out-and-and-and-." The hippo stuttered and spluttered, something on his mind. Weren't there usually two guys per truck? Judy's eyes glanced around before she responded.  
  
"Calm down sir, what is the matter?" She tried to soothe the hippo, who shook his head.  
  
"Come on, Ted needs our help!" He reached and grabbed her hand, as Nick ampled up. For a big animal, the hippo was quick on his toes. Though Judy was quicker.  
  
"Sir! Please, step back, and take a breath. What is going on?" Judy was not one to let a stranger, especially a stranger bigger than her, grab her. A couple years on the street told her to be careful.  
  
"mmmmmm!" The hippo didn't seem to be able to articulate himself.  
  
"BOBBY! BOBBY! YOU GET SOME HELP YET?!" Came the gravely voice of the hippo's partner. Distress and fear in his voice. It came from a shadowed alley, between the buildings. The angle of the sun leaving it cool. "mmmmmm!" The hippo nervously shook his fists before jogging off towards the voice, words failing him.  
  
Nick patted Judy on the shoulder, no rest for the weary. The scene that met them was...mundane. A lion, teenaged or maybe couple years out of high school, with a greasy mane was kneeling off away from a dumpster. He wore his coveralls properly, in contrast to his partner. His paws were shaking in a strange way, his back bent down almost like he was praying...he looked up. Two fingers of his big paw coming up and down...  
  
"Help!" He sounded hoarse before he leaned back down, that big lion chest inflating and uninflating. Judy's blood froze, Nick's ears folded back. Closer they got, no longer did they lop and amble, they ran.  
  
"Officers..." The lion named Ted wheezed, hunched over as he was over a tiny furless bundle. Wrapped up in a dirty yellow blankie. Nick's voice is distant as he calls for RAs into his radio, and Judy kneels down next to this tired _hero_.  
  
Sirens sound in the distance, as a soft little mewling cry breaks in that hot shaded alley, on the hottest day of that dreary summer...

 

 


	13. Thinking Things Through.(Gilt's)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When you mix stupidity and guns, chances are someone will be having a bad time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Written quickly, not beta'ed, and edits are not in depth. Will continue to edit and refine if I spot problems.
> 
> Thinking this might be a fun thing to work as a series of sorts.

Tomas Thurgood Tripton, aka Triple T was what you'd call the stereotypical hog biker, the hard core 1% type with a patched vest and dark black tats for the BoH in Barnsville Prison and the Vandals out of Tulsa. The spider web on his neck telling the world he finished at least a five year bid at a serious penitentiary, the runic bolts a membership in a supremacist gang in prison, the bloody dice on his knuckles that he had shed blood for the organization. He was in essence what most Zollywood directors wanted in their gruff criminal extras.  
  
Triple T was not what most would call the sharpest knife in the drawer, or brightest bulb, or the any of the dozen or so ways one described a object not being the best. He had flunked out of high school with a wild smile and on his way to doing a nickle at the Barnville. He lived at the edges of what polite society called well...society. What they'd call a two time loser, but what he knew was only someone who'd sharpen their skills among his people. He was a young angry hog who loved his roadster bikes, the so called hogsters, big chrome handlebars and good old domestic engines. Big V6s that roared. He was a young angry hog that loved his whiskey, and his sows, and the feeling of his big crampons digging into some poor fool's neck...and he loved guns and money. He was a young angry hog on a trip, alone, and he needed some cash.  
  
He was not the smartest hog around, but he was one that knew what he wanted. And what he wanted was inside this faggy little hipster shithole, specifically he wanted what was in the cash drawer and the little strong box under the counter.  
  
A really high class joint, with those new flatscreen LCDs and Plasmas and whatever, pastels and mood lighting and homey wood furniture. Gilt's, probably some pancy's idea of a artsy name. Name a bar Virgin and all that...and whatever race traitor pig thought of that idea didn't even have the good decency to serve the right sort of folk. Or hire the right sort of folk. Probably some rich asshole that didn't even visit the place. Some literal fat cat working the bar, and a fox the till. Sure, there were some proper pigs here and there, but they weren't his sort. With their "geek chic" and their big black nerd glasses, and they're prep school shit. Big fruity drinks and finger food that had stupid shit like truffle oil or whatever. Hell, the only normal dressing ones were Tigers and everyone knew how perverted those mongols were. Why, whoever the pig was that owned this place, Triple T was doing them a favor. Reality check.  
  
Now, Triple T might have not known what a parabola was or who Martin Luther was or what nations sat on the UN security council, but he was a hog who had put in work and knew his way around a sawed-off and fast getaway. This Gilt's place was a few miles from a cop shop sure, but if he hit it during the shift change, they'd turn a 5 minute response into a 15 minute one. The highway entrance was just a few miles further on, and once he got on that, he could skim off into the slums and tunnels. His fast road bike liable to get lost in the clutter. And with his plates in his saddle bags, and his face covered by his goggles, helmet, and bandanna...well, chances were no cops would break themselves to find someone like him.  
  
Something like this happened every second in a big city like Zootopia.  
  
Yeah, that was the plan alright.  
  
So it was like that, he idled his hog in the loading zone, just near the door, ready for his getaway. From his saddle back he pulled good old Bertha, a old sawed-off double barrel he got off some old coot's truck a few weeks after he was released from Barnsville back in '12. He hid the thing under his road jacket, the taped up butt sticking out ever so slightly. His road crampons clicked as he opened the door, that canned easy listening shit playing softly in the air. God, this place was a joke. Fancy photos with people in suits all around, and movie stars, and all sorts of shit that some idiot thought looked good for a bar. Like a real bar would have patches next to hubcaps next to plates and use old construction wire reels as tables and have their walls and fixtures looked done up by some post-modern minimalist tripe with steel plates and rivets and glass covered bartops. Mixed fucking signals all that was. Probably served kale and gluten free crap...not that it did the fat cat with the spots any good.  
  
The door jingled as he walked in, his game plan already ready.  
  
"Welcome to Gilt's! What can I get ya-" The fat cat didn't get a chance to finish, Triple T whipped his sawed-off out and shoved it into his snout.  
  
"GIVE ME THE FUCKING CASH! NOW! NOW! NOW! YOU FUCKERS BACK THERE, ON THE GROUND!" He screamed, tossing a look over his shoulder. "DON'T FUCKING LOOK AT MY FACE!"  
  
...  
  
...  
  
...  
  
There was a pregnant pause. Triple T stared at the customers, who stared back.  
  
What the fuck was wrong with them? Couldn't they see this was a hold up?  
  
...  
  
There was a click and screech, as chairs fell over and each and ever one of those fuckers, from the pigs in their preppy ass sweater vests to the tiger in sweats to the fucking pregnant ass elephant all pulled out a god damn piece. Revolvers and Semis, tranqs and tasers, and was that a fucking Mac-10?! What?! They all flung themselves to hard pressed spots behind furniture and walls.  
  
Triple T blinked at the surreal scene before he felt his entire body twist forward and a fat arm locked him into a headlock and wrench his gun from his hooves. His tusk cracked glass as old Bertha was pulled from his grip. The fat cat shoving his face into the glass and pulling him off his hooves with one arm, the other paw handing the sawed-off to the fox working the register. The barrel of a gun to the back of his neck prompted Triple T to do the smart thing, which was not resist.  
  
"Oh Mem Goodness Hun, such a big mistake you made today..." The fat cat with the spots purred with a frankly uncomfortable accent...not that he was into that or anything...or shut up. Triple T sweated.  
  
"Yeah...how does it feel to be a rocket scientist boyo?" The fox added as he unloaded the shotgun with a practiced ease, snapping open the shotty with a flick and catching the ejected shells without looking. Triple T sweated some more, and maybe a little pee came out.  
  
Had he fucking hit a mobbed up joint?! The door jangled, not that he could see.  
  
"Nick! Sorry if the bike is one of your 'friend's', but it was in a loading zone, so I gave...it...a ticket...wut?"


	14. Property Values(Gilt's)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Optimists say the glass is half full, Pessimists say it's half empty, Realists want omelettes for breakfast.

Nick Wilde may have not paid his full share of taxes the last few years(decades), but he knew his way around the system. Really knew his way around it, you had to when you were a ghetto kit from Happytown. Those tower blocks that Happy Gunderson made from tax and charity purposes were run down and rotten, and they crushed a mammal's spirit, but when you want to claw your way out of that sort of hole, you learn all you can. You act when you can, and if you have to take advantage of another animal's misfortune...well...you did what you had to do.

Was how he moved his ma out of the projects and into a nice little brownstone off Central's edges. Some software gerbil didn't see what the sub-prime mortgage market really meant. Like now.

Kit Karson's was a dive bar in the old red brick of Central's downtown, probably family owned going back to when Foxes and Rabbits rioted in the Five Burrows over the draft during the Continental Civil War. Classic Central Zootopia, just a few miles off Precinct 1. The hard scrabble traditionalist in the family probably died, and the business started to tank. He looked around, the place smelled of smoke despite the already decade old smoking ban in food service buildings. The realtor was telling him how great a piece this place was, that it was a steal. Old Saul Holstein might have been a bit of a shark when it came to his clients, Nick knew that well given how many he steered the old bull's way, with interest and fat stacks of rolled cash(read hundreds covering stacks of newspaper). The neighborhood was shite, a off the highway ramp distrustful place. Where even so close to the premier Station House of the city, no one liked talking to the cops.

Nick's sort of neighborhood.

Though, it wouldn't be for long. Central Zootopia's edges were gentrifying. Precinct 1 had a remodel back in the 90s, turning into what it was now, that shining island in the sea of urban sprawl. Where "good cops" worked hard and kept the city safe. Central's Teaching Hospital was getting a new Trauma Unit, and was under going major upgrades. There were a few organic food stores catering to the few first in gentrifying residents. A couple medical dispensaries were getting their "recreational sale" licenses. Hipsters with their skinny jeans and lattes crowed for the architecture, and the few residents the recession hadn't scared off would be priced out. This would be a new hotspot, before it declined and the bubble burst in a decade. Just how Zootopia lived and breathed, like a immortal, cells born and cells died.

Was a shame, but it was his opportunity. Even when the hipsters left for the 'burbs to start families, and the neighborhood regressed, chances were with Precinct 1 right there, the place wouldn't really loose too much value. Maybe one day, if he held onto it long enough, some young hustler will look at this place the same as him...was a interesting thought.

The furniture would have to be replaced, the old pool tables were uneven and dented, the felt torn and worn. The tables and chairs wobbled from hard use. The bar top smelled like it had been soaked through with stale beer and froth. Would be expensive. Hmm...he'd have to ask Ratriguez to give him first dips on any City Auctions. Bound to be enough for him to deck this place out for cheaper. Would be gaudy as all hell, but the stuff. Yeah, all that stuff would be a ego stroke for his first wave regulars.

Squad 1, the Precinct 1 Units. Vice, Intelligence, Major Crimes, the Gangs Taskforce, Organized Crimes Taskforce, SWAT. Precinct 1 had a lot of big names, and a lot of them impounded a lot of expensive stuff that the city had to get rid off. Sure, might be a little behind the time, but it would be a ego stroke. What hard working cop wouldn't giggle while watching big games on the TVs they took off civil forfeiture. So many long hours looking at all those nice things the crims had and they didn't. Still...too bad about this place. It had character. Was of a old dying breed. Was truly a shame.

Nick Wilde smiled. Yes. It was a shame, but it was his opportunity. He could see it now...all he needed was a name.

"Saul. I'll take it."

"Beautiful Bubula, this place will have that Wilde Gilt in no time. I'll send over the paperwork tomorrow."


	15. How far?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A piece written for someone who wished to see some fanfiction about the fancomic Try Everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Written quickly, not beta'ed, and edits are not in depth. Will continue to edit and refine if I spot problems.

Judy Hopps had been stabbed deep, the wound had been duck taped and superglued shut and wrapped in bandages. What little ghetto medicine Nick and she knew, her dad had a scar like she would get, from when he came home from the Nam. Told her stories of how some Navy Corpsman superglued his stomach closed as he lay screaming in a Huey over Saigoat. Those stories were going to save her life, they had to...She was still leaking. That meant inside too probably...she breathed heavy as she leaned against the bars, in darkness. Her paws too weak to pull the curtain down, Nick had weighed it down with something...he was like her, he was good on his paws...thinking...

"NICK! NICKKKK!" She cried, even if each breath felt like lifting a ton off her chest, even if it burned to speak. She screamed for him. Voice raw, throat burning, the taste of copper with every syllable.

He was like her, sometimes it was easy to miss the obvious. Like two floppy ears on her head.

First it was screams, rages, slurred curse words and more understandable shouting, confused rams unsure of what was going on.

It had been five on two, with her guts trying to escape.

Her ears rang, from her bloodloss, her shock, but no...she had to hear...she had to know. She had to keep awake.

Nick's beautiful voice, his easy tone already such a good part of her life, was distorting. High pitched and cracking, dipping, going up and down as he lost his mind. It suffocated her...

It had been five on two...then five on one. Her ears and eyes started to fall. She grabbed a hold of the ancient barred crate, some little niggling part of her mind wondering what it was doing in the innards of a museum.

"What's-what's up with this guy?"

Five on one, Nick was screaming nonsense. Strung together words. She couldn't understand, there was no need to understand, it was madness and hate and killing froth.

"Myeyes!MYEYES!AHHHHHHHH!"

Four on one, someone screaming about their eyes. The sound of a body impacting against wood, in her mind she could make out the difference between shattering bones and wood...

"DOUGDOUGBROTHER!HELPMEHELPME!"

Three on one, someone screaming. The sound of crampons and hooves clicking against the cold concrete floor, wood splinters scattering. A running start, still two legged...

"dddouggggieeee...eee...eee..."

Three on one, someone is not screaming anymore, mewling and shock. The sounds of flesh ripping, horn snapping, keratin splinter, hooves slamming into a padded officer's vest, of feral madness.

"Gethimoffgethi-"

Two on one, the sound of blood dripping, of panic and screams. Of biting. Flesh rending. Bones breaking. Killing. Cowardice.

"RICKY! YOU FUCKING COWARD! COME BACK-AH FUCK!"

One on one. Bodies on the floor. Wrestling. There was only noise now. Only noise. No thoughts. Just survival of the fittest. Plastic crinkling, skittering wood and metal. Panic. She could hear it, still, under the ringing.

One on one. The frantic noises of our most primal selves, where there were no words, no civilization, only the cold fear of a uncaring brutal world. Panicked bleets and screaming howls.

None on one. Something trying to stand, huffing, puffing, a fox's maddened cries. The sound of it collapsing...Nick collapsing, struggling. She could hear it, how he couldn't walk, even on all fours, how his limbs uselessly scratched at the floor.

How he writhed in his death throes...

"Nick!" Judy felt a weight in her throat, her voice a rasp, the taste of copper stronger now. Sparks of light at the edges of her eyes, how could that be? She was in the dark. The ringing was getting louder.

The movements stopped...then they started again...angry huffs, killing intent...trying so hard to drag itself towards the noisy fleshy thing.

Judy Hopps felt like she was that little girl again, afraid under some bully's glare, helpless...but...but she wasn't helpless. She hadn't been then, and she would not be now.

She was not helpless.

The bars on this cage...they were made of wood.

Civilization meant nothing anymore.


	16. Further still.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This needs more work, the person that asked for Try Everything stuff asked for the aftermath too. I think I need to work on this more. It's too minimalist, and the pacing is off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Written quickly, not beta'ed, and edits are not in depth. Will continue to edit and refine if I spot problems.

_"911 what is your emergency?"_  
  
_"T-t-t-this is-of-Ho-hopps...of-down..."_  
  
_"Excuse me ma'am, but you are being unclear. Is this a emergency?"_  
  
_"Of-...down..."_  
  
_*sounds of movement in background*_  
  
_"Ma'am?"_  
  
_"officers do-WWWWWNNNNNN! AHHH! AHHHHHHHHHH!"_  
  
_*sounds of movement, something wet*_  
  
_"Ma'am!? Are you okay? I need you to stay calm."_  
  
_"O-officers down, this is Judy Hopps, Badge-badge..."_  
  
_"You are a police officer?! Stay on the line, I will have an ambulance there in no time."_  
  
_"Badge number niner-five-zero-niner-niner...officers...down..."_  
  
_"Just stay on the line sweetie, I have help on the way...Roger! I got officers down here!"_  
  
_"My-my partner...he's..."_  
  
_"Don't push yourself...just stay on the line, can you tell me where you are?"_  
  
_"Inside...natural history...museum...I have...four...suspects...down..."_  
  
_"H-how many animals are hurt?"_  
  
_"...two..."_  
  
Chief of Police, Mwana Bogo listened to the 911 recording silently as he surveyed the carnage in what had been Zootopia Metropolitan Natural History Museum's storage wing.  
  
And he looked at his phone for the photos doctors at CTH had sent over, Hopps' bloody wound, an inch wide and all but going through to the other side...and she was the lucky one.  
  
Wilde...there were no words for the state of his body. Would he ever be a cop again...would he even be able to walk again...concerns for later, both were in surgery.  
  
Going on nine hours now. Nine hours...and the blood was just starting to congeal.  
  
The lab boys were all over it, Gearwinder was the best Technical Services had to offer. A long bodied rat with a eye for detail, him and his team...they would not miss a thing.  
  
The ME, a otter by the name of Peralmonger, was surveying the pile of bodies from which they extracted a unconscious Wilde, and semi-conscious Hopps. Four rams, all wearing lab grade chem suits.  
  
"What in the creator's name happened here?" Someone said, Bogo ignored them in favor of the bodies. Or rather. The one body away from the rest.  
  
The one with a small bloody pawprint on the nostrils and mouth...the one officers found Hopps lying on...burner phone in paw...spouting conspiracy theories...  
  
"Sir, we found something." Gearwinder padded up, his windbreaker open as he held up something electronic.  
  
"High-grade mic-speaker and storage device, pretty fancy. Founded a ways back, in a carrot pen of all things..."  
  
"Can you get it to work?" Bogo asked simply, as he considered the bloody pawprint.  
  
"Sure. The casing might have been smashed, but the stuff all still works..." Gearwinder clicked the play button.  
  
What came out...well...Bogo knew that that little pawprint had to disappear...that a certain line of thought...had to disappear...he...he took care of his officers...  
  
Especially since he was the one that forced them into this.  
  
Results or their badges...  
  
Bogo clenched his jaw.  
  
Results...they had brought him results.


	17. We Have Intel...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This was to fill a prompt, more later. It is a riff of a Korean movie, wonder if anyone knows?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Written quickly, not beta'ed, and edits are not in depth. Will continue to edit and refine if I spot problems.

The Meadowlands District was by far the closest to spread out and big open spaces one could get in the confines of Zootopia proper, an small enough town charm. It was like someone had scooped out a section of the rolling hills and locks and great plains and just laid them down here. It was no proper small town, out in the sticks that were day long drives away. Where you really got to see such things, where your nearest neighbors were hours away instead of merely twenty minutes. The biomes of Zootopia were truly a masterpiece of animal ingenuity. A soft roiling drizzle with a good chance of thunder coming around(and .05% tornado warning) was making the scene just picturesque.  
  
Of course that didn't help ZPD Meadowlands District detective Ronald Redrock, a ten year veteran of Robbery Homicide who was "optimistically" on a stakeout. Ronald was a short chubby coyote, who really should have been working a more arid district, that had the bad luck("great privileged") of being assigned to the position of UC asset. Which was why he was sitting on his ass, dressed in his best Old Animal clothes, pretending to be some lonely sad sack sitting alone in a bank lobby. Not like he was the only one, there was this ancient looking lion just shivering alone drinking some of that complimentary coffee...Sure, he definitely wasn't alone, Heller from Tactical was pulling UC duty as well, waiting in line, pretending to be a customer getting a bank loan.  
  
This was such a bad idea. They should have just taken over the bank, replaced everyone, but because Intel said "A Bank in the Meadowlands" was going to get hit, the higher ups couldn't cover all the bases like that. There were like 50 banks, and all of them had UCs in them...and a patrol car nearby. Sure, no one was expecting heavy shit, not like anyone was crazy enough to do that, but come on. This shit was nuts. Two UCs and maybe a patrol car?  
  
Seriously, what the fuck...eh, not like he had to worry...chances were it would be enough. Most Robbers thought a Nine and some bullets were enough.  
  
The door opened as some more customers streamed in, all of them wet in one way or another. The usual gaggle that came in during the late afternoon. All normal looking enough. Ron had a rhino wearing some standard browns from PedEx, driver on break? A fox wearing nurse's scrubs carrying a backpack, probably off a shift from Meadowlands General up the road, Ron could smell week old laundry just wafting out from that backpack. A couple of cake ladies with what looks like a strongbox from a bake sale, was the time to get those camp trips funded for those local ranger cubs. And a bundled up rabbit also with a backpack, wearing one of those face masks animals with colds wore sometimes...and big sunglasses...hmm...  
  
Ron cocked a eyebrow at the rabbit, who's long grey ears were folded back under a yellow rain hat. Dressed in a matching yellow rainslicker and yellow boots too. The rabbit walked up to the low counter for shorter animals, a deposit book in paw. The teller, a fellow rabbit, looked up from where he was sitting. The Yellow Rainslicker opened up the book and held it up, and started turning pa-okay, that was the robber.  
  
Ron sighed, how obvious could you be? Rabbits were not too fighty, they tended to run. All he would have to do was amble up and show no fear, and chances were the rabbit would fold. He silently got to his paws and easily slid up. Of course Rainslicker didn't notice, given he seemed to get a little frustrated. Turning the pages more and more.  
  
"Hey, don't I know you from somewhere?" Ron asked simply, smiling as he leaned onto the counter. It was a little short, but he made do. Full of swagger and life. Rainslicker paused, one ear turning towards him, there was tension in the ankles. Yeah, this guy was definitely going to turn and-  
  
A flash of yellow, the rabbit turned on his heel and threw open his rainslicker. A old surplus .30cal carbine, the sort you could find still for $200 at a gun show came up faster than Ron could blink.  
  
**"BANG!"**


	18. The Bad Ideas Have Just Begun...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Right, someone wanted Nick and Judy roleplaying crime time, and well...why not make it a part of their job. It's still riffing on the korean movie pretty hard, but I hope that if things develop, that I can put a interesting take on it.
> 
> After all. It's city wide.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Written quickly, not beta'ed, and edits are not in depth. Will continue to edit and refine if I spot problems.

**"BANG!"**

Ron blinked, staring at the rabbit, who held up a orange tipped toy to his face. The paint not even fully scratched off. It was one of those realistic models that gun nuts used to play historical paintball or whatever those reenactment type thingies were called.  
  
Fucking pain those things were some times.  
  
"You shot me before I even identified myself as a police officer?" Ron asked with surprise, one hand going up to pick at a ear, man this rabbit had a set of lungs on them. The rabbit took a light hop back as everyone else in the building looked around.  
  
"Dead people can't talk. Now go lie down, I shot you. You four, don't press that silent alarm." The rabbit said with what sounded like boredom, before taking his sidearm with a casual pull and pointing the toy at the other tellers. It was a she Ron then realized. Though given she was walking off with a hop in her step, Rainslicker did seem more into it then she appeared to be.  
  
"Excuse me gentleanimals, may I get your attention please?" Rainslicker asked, as she hopped onto the little island table where all the deposit slips and stuff were, those little pens on chains rattling.  
  
"This is a part of Operation Roleplay, the city wide training simulation that the ZPD announced last month. Please stay calm, stay in place, and forgive the inconvenience. To better learn about police response in practical conditions, the city will compensate you for your time. I also wish to personally apologize for any rude behavior-"  
  
"Really?" Ron asked as he slowly bent down, main he was too fat for this.  
  
"Dead people can't talk!" Rainslicker called back, she then cleared her throat. "As I was saying, I wish to apologize if I behave rudely to you, but this is to ensure as much realism and verisimilitude as possible. Now, urm, right. The exercise will start in earnest now."  
  
Operation Role Play was getting off to a fine start Ron fumed to himself as he got to the floor and laid on his side. He humphed, this was totally not cool. He'd have to lie here for hours probably.  
  
"Ahem..."  
  
**PAMPT.** That toy didn't sound like a gun, but the sound of gas releasing and the slap of the metal action was loud enough. That was a small splat as a pink paint stain appeared on the roof.  
  
"EVERYONE PAWS UP AND TO THE WINDOW, NOW! NOW! NOW! I FUCKING SEE SOMEONE REACHING FOR A PHONE, THEY'RE DEAD!" Rainslicker screamed pointing her gun at everyone, she waved it about, her finger off the trigger. There was a hesitance, before the Rhino PedEx driver started to go to the door.  
  
"Screw this. I'm back on shift in twenty minutes." He said simply before the rabbit fired a simulation shot between his legs.  
  
"I SAID TO THE WINDOW, YOU FUCKING THINK I'M KIDDING!" Rainslick screamed before she reached up to rub her throat.  
  
"I am sorry sir, but I can't let you do that..." She apologized.  
  
"Why the hell not?! It's a free country, this is against my righ-" The rhino started off.  
  
"City Hall will pay out a $500 dollar Targoat gift card as well as allow you to select from a prize pool of rewards including things like city auction cars or a weekend cruises if you participate." Rainslicker replied, that got the attention of everyone.  
  
"Oh...well...okay then...urm. Should I, urm try to act or something, I was in theater club in middle school..." The Rhino hemmed and hawed. Rainslicker shook her head.  
  
"No sir, that is unnecessary, but please excuse my screaming at you." She said before motioning with the gun. "EVERYONE TO THE WINDOW!" She then hopped the divide onto the teller counters and aimed her gun at the bank employees. It was a small branch, only eight employees and there wasn't a back office, though there was a small vault and safety deposit box section.  
  
There was a slow plod as Rainslicker then went to the main branch doors, her gun still trained on the group. There was now a greater distance, so she could get to work. She threw her backpack to the ground, and started to unzip it, her attention pulled away for a second as she put the carbine onto the ground.  
  
Ron tried to hide his amused smile, maybe he wouldn't be spending all day on the floor after all. Heller had the bead, and the hostages were out of the way, the Tasmanian Devil smirked among the hostages as his paw reached into his coat and he stepped forward and out.  
  
There was a flash of color.  
  
"Knife kill." Came a amused voice.  
  
"What?!" Heller reached up to his stained collar, a little dab of red from a marker coming off on his fingers. The fox in the nurse's scrubs shrugged as he pulled up a face mask from around his neck. He plucked the sidearm from Heller's coat and moved away from the hostages. A big old marker pen was in the fox's paw.  
  
No one got a good look at his face, too much attention had been on the rabbit.  
  
"Dead people don't talk." The fox said simply as he pointed the gun at the rest of the animals.


	19. Ripping off Brooklyn Nine-Nine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What can I say, I am a hack...but I wonder if I can take the idea and run with it in relation to Clawhauser.
> 
> Makes you think really...what is our friendly cuddly cat hiding behind his cheery smile...
> 
> Maybe he is a member of The Division. Thoughts?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Written quickly, not beta'ed, and edits are not in depth. Will continue to edit and refine if I spot problems.

"Soooo...to recap," Nick began as he idly flipped open the cylinder of his revolver and checked its contents, "I'm down to my last full six and three loose rounds, Tolski 'the Pred-Eater' Bunivoch's goons are searching the building, and we got to get this scumbag somewhere safe with only you and me? Is that what's happening right now?" he finished as he snapped his revolver closed and ratcheted the into place. His black furred paws felt cold and calmy, his pads soft. Really, it was not a good day to get out of bed, he took a sick day for goodness' sakes. He kicked SBI agent Don Drooper in the side for emphasis. The long jowled pig in a suit kept silent, sullenly staring up at his two captors.  
  
Being a corrupt government agent was cool, but god damn what did he have to act so cool..."  
  
Judy Hopps hummed as she checked her own war-dog of a sidearm, the combat .45 that she personally bought instead of using a department provided magnum. It was a thousand dollar safe queen that had lost its royal status, its slide now sporting a long scratch down its black finish. She left it unsaid she was down to her last four rounds, with one in the pipe. "You're forgetting Clawhauser," she offered, gesturing over to the window where their brother officer, dressed in his patrol blues was looking out of the window. He was carrying a plastic Wonder Nine, and by the looks of things still had three more mags.  
  
"Yeah!" Clawhauser nodded enthusiastically, he glanced back out the window, "Oh, and another SUV of guys showed up."  
  
"Terrific," Nick drawled, pinching the bridge of his snout. Yes, it was so terrific. Three dozen more killer rabbits that would turn the lot of them into pet food, "Well, I know these buildings, classic Happytown projects like these usually have these big ass chambers you can get into if you go vent crawling. They lead into steam tunnels. We just need to get to a utilities room, and I can get us out."  
  
"Sounds like a plan, but we need a safehouse," Judy replied calmly, before she reached down to drag the pig up, "Up and at 'em, Bunivoch's going to kill you too, so might as well cooperate."  
  
"You'll never make it, Bunivoch has animals in the Bureau and the ZPD, they know each and every safe house in the city," Drooper scoffed, his serious expression not ever changing once over the last few days. From the moment he walked into their station house, a trusted federal agent, to now, a unmasked traitor.  
  
"We can go to my place. No one knows where I live," Clawhauser offered as they breached the hall and started towards the stairs, "Not even Margy."  
  
"...really?" Judy asked as she leaned around the corner, she motioned it was clear and they pressed hard towards the utilities room.  
  
"You seriously going to ask that now Carrots?" Nick retorted as he holstered his revolver and went to work picking the old lock, he didn't even need to get out his picks. Just use his Zootopia Express...well, not his. He hummed as he took Drooper's wallet and fished out a credit card. It would also make short work of the War era screws that held the grate in place.  
  
"What? I mean, no offense Clawhauser, but you seem like the type to have parties," Judy replied, she shrugged as she pulled the door closed behind them all.  
  
"None taken Sweetie, though no, I'm a really private cat," Clawhauser replied, as he blushed at the grate. Oh boy...  
  
He'd have to suck it in.  
  
Nick pulled the grate to the side, and fished out a roll of ducktape and a screwdriver from one of the tool boxes, and glanced at Clawhauser...perhaps he'd need more duck tape, something new came up.  
  
Most utility vents were big, needed to be because union rules, and union mammals tended to have big ass cracks. It was a stereotype sure, but not a unearned one.  
  
After giving Clawhauser a little adhesive assistance, and Drooper some adhesive muzzling, it was a short crawl towards the steam tunnels and out onto the street.  
  
They needed a ride, and what joy was there, when four black late model SUVs were sitting there for the taking.  
  
Unsurprisingly, hit squads tended to leave at least one guy with the getaway cars.  
  
"*whistle* Yo!"  
  
Also unsurprisingly, when a fox steps out from out of nowhere and gives a whistle, rabbit hitmen tended to focus on them, which definitely leaves them open to a taser jammed into their spine set for wolf.  
  
Gzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz. Thump.  
  
"Let's go," Judy mumbled as she opened one of the doors, shoved Drooper into the back. Clawhauser nodded as he took shotgun. Nick, he paused to at least kick the hitman into the recovery position before taking his position as the driver.  
  
Also, also unsurprisingly, crime bosses didn't invest in the newest and flashest SUVs for their murder squads, with their new anti-theft keyless ignitions and computer controlled engines. And they definitely didn't come with GPS and Lojack.  
  
Nick popped the cap off the ignition and jammed the screwdriver into place. And with that they were off.  
  
They ditched the SUV a district over from where Clawhauser said he lived, the RD's lower branches would make short work of a unattended and already jackable SUV. Clawhauser surprisingly lived in the Mangroves, for a Savannah cat he choose a very strange place to live...  
  
"Clawhauser...urm...where are you taking us?" Judy asked with concern as they went deep into the Canals District. Was not the best of places, the outskirts of Zootopia had spotty CCTV coverage, and well...it was also not a sort of neighborhood one would expect the lively and kind Clawhauser to live in. He was the type to have guests and serve amuse-bouche right? Little spoon fulls of tart cheese or stuff like that.  
  
"Home." He said simply, as he took off his shirt and tied the sleeves around his waste. His light duty vest and wife beater shined white, very clean and nicely pressed. He led them towards a Mangrove apartment, it was a amphibious place. Go up, and you were in a treeblock apartment, go down you were in a lagoon pool loft. This building was pretty security conscious, to which Judy approved, and Nick cased. The security keypad was only six months old, new model. Most places didn't bother updating that sort of thing...though he appreciated the dark low watt bulb and the fact there were no Jam Cams or expensive wireless CCTV cameras around. Big old wired domes stood above the door.  
  
Clawhauser ushered them inside quickly, after all it looked very suspicious. Three animals forcing a cuffed and duck taped fourth into a building in the dead of night. Clawhauser motioned for them to follow quickly, hopping up the stairs with a unusual energy. Though he did get red faced, his cheeks puffing as he led them to his second floor apartment. A big hardwood door with four deadbolts met them, and Clawhauser worked them with familiar ease. With a quick smile and a wave in, he let them into his...apartment.  
  
"...you live here?" Judy asked with surprise, as she pushed Drooper in and let him sit on the floor of the entrance hall. It was...austere. No posters, no photos, no...well...no Clawhauser. Woodcrate furniture and a cheap big screen in the corner...and a gun rack filled with what looked like military grade assault weapons and armor behind a steel security cage...and...lots of knives and reptile heads...and...chitin shells...and bit stuffed fish...a go-bag hung on a coat hook. There was a map of Zootopia opposite the go-bag. What looked like a gasmask and hooligan's bar hung off it...  
  
"Yeah...and I'm afraid I'll be moving soon..." Clawhauser hissed awkwardly, it was their first meeting all over again. Just like when he called her cute, and they had a talk. Nick just silently stared at the two of them, really...that was her response to...to...this.  
  
He pushed past, well...perhaps work would distract from this new...friendship dynamic development.  
  
Rip.  
  
Drooper stared at them, unflinching.  
  
"Bunivoch will find us."  
  
"Nu-uh. I lease this place out of a shell corporation," Clawhauser happily and congenially interrupted.  
  
"Urm...yeah!" Judy tried to get on board with this development.  
  
"And my mail goes to a PO box in Tundra Town," He continued without missing a beat.  
  
"Yeah?" Judy repeated blankly.  
  
"My neighbors think my name is James Blackmark," He began to nod as he went to his bare kitchen area towards his fridge, which was thankfully well stocked. That was something Nick could take solace in.  
  
"Yeah." Judy glared at Drooper, might as well get into it.  
  
"And all the people I work with think my name is Benjamin Clawhauser," Clawhauser finished as he fished out a bottle of cold milk for himself and some ready-to-eat sandwiches.  
  
"Yea-wait, what?" Judy turned to look at him in confusion, while Nick stared bug eyed. Drooper seemed unfazed as ever.  
  
"Don't worry it about it sweetie!" Clawhauser waved it off as he prepared dinner for the three of them. Sandwiches and soda, or milk in his case, would have to do. He could microwave them if anyone wanted hot food.  
  
"Okay...right, where is that evidence Drooper? A pig like you, you keep copies, protection and insurance..." Judy nodded slowly towards her...friend? She glanced back towards Clawhauser.  
  
Drooper stayed silent.  
  
"Want a CTL Jude? Nick, shrimp?" Clawhauser asked, holding up the sandwiches in question.  
  
"I'll take a gin sour if you got it." Nick mumbled, as he leaned against the wall. Where exactly was he? Did he hear the dulcet black and white tones of Rod Steering?  
  
"Dry bar next to the cage Hun, help yourself," Clawhauser mentioned as he selected a shrimp poboy for himself, he made them all in advance for times like this, you know when you had friends over, "Oh, I'll get some .357s out of there for ya, Judy, you carrying a .45 right?"


	20. Perspective(Pushed)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I figured I did Judy, so why not Nick now. Might make it a thing, see how the fine officers of the ZPD wreak bloody havoc when they must set their minds to it...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Written quickly, not beta'ed, and edits are not in depth. Will continue to edit and refine if I spot problems.

Kelly Briner was a otter in her senior year of high school, and she worked at shitty Kit's Sports Chalet in a shitty strip mall for shitty money so she could have her own cell phone and data plan. Her overly PC counselors at school called her creative, but with dark fur dye, deathly motifs, and a four studs in her face, even her parents understood she was a goth. She vaped on the job, and stood there with bored indifference. All the norms just shitting away their lives, doing shitty unimportant shit, that didn't need anyone to do while she shitted away her life in this dead end shit job where no one from corporate fucking cared. Her manager, Jeff, didn't fucking care. That she barely really kept the register's area in order. The retard short bus riding Tiger was smart enough not to need minding when the restocking at to be done. But fuck Jeff, he spent all day in the back looking at gross out porn.

What a wonderful family establishment this was.

So it was like that, she just wasted her day, ringing up the bullshit charges. Fat ass kids that got hundred dollar kicks but would never really use them, their moms blind to the whole fucking fake dreams they had. Roided up jerks that probably broke another set of weights, all pimply faced with shrunken gonads and shit. Dead beat dads that thought some new hockey gear and snowboarding crap would make up for lost time, who paid in cash and dressed in thrift store trash. More and more sob stories for the pile.

A wonderful fucking day.

\-----

Bengi Bahara was a old panther, when he was seventeen he was the only male of recruit-able age that was literate in his little jungle village, he could read Scriptures because the missionary came and he was the only one interested. They made him sergeant for that, when the old colonialist masters needed troops for the War. He saw something so wondrous among the death and carnage, he saw life. He did not know what sulfate powder was, or morphine, or any of the other wonders were. In War he met his wife, who cared for him when he himself needed those wonders. Loving Dula, who carried for him, who gave him the plasma and rum. Who loved him so, who took his name and who bore him many cubs. He became a pharmacist because of her, she who taught him so much so he could bring these wonders to everyone. She who brought him to her homeland, Zootopia...who was so proud when he opened Bahara Pharmacy for her.

Dula was gone now, but he still his cubs, now all grown and with cubs of their own...he still had this place. Which survived all coming eras, decades of strife and change. This little place stood unchanged, from the first few years he got off that train carriage with her, to now when all these new wonders kept appearing. Bengi Bahara did Toola's land a service, providing them what would fix their ills.

The medicines and tonics that were like magic in his youth, the gadgets and gizmos that made even his life, with his grey fur so much more comfortable. From aspirin to zoloft, he had it all. From ankle braces to pin prick blood tests.

He gave Zootopia the means to treat their ills, from the sickly young babes that needed their antibiotics to the tired laborers who needed new back and neck braces and some things to refill their first aid kits.

It was a wonderful day.

\-----

Little Heat was a bundle of laughs, literally. No one really knew what the short round fellow or gal was, given they were always bundled up in the Tundra Town cold. Heat was definitely not a native to the cold, given the triple layers and honest to god boots he wore. Cracking those little heating pads like they were candy. Little Heat was a animal who could get things for a brother, be they big or small. Whether you needed a clean ID with the new helios or a crate of knock of DVDs, Little Heat was your main mammal. Though, oh, if you crossed him, you'd find yourself frozen stiff among snow sculptures. There were rules for this sort of thing, big stuff you called a burner at the corner, little stuff you called the burner at Loco's. Real stuff, you used that dark net website with that new fangled Tor shit. Untraceable, paid in HumpCoin, was a new fucking world, and he didn't even have to leave his chair out on the corner. Playing dominoes with some of the reliable mammals of the area.

Guys that got farmed out work, who were reliable and trusted. No snitches here.

What a new fucking world, where you could order some bone juice and rubbers and introductions for the best of the Arctic Vix's girls from the comfort of your home. Where you could get some fine twenty year old 'Nac for your party delivered same day with the blood washed off. Where a old beater with clean plates and a crapy ass .25 in the glove box will be left for you under a overpass for the low, low price of 3Gs of HC.

What a wonderful day to be alive.

\-----

Carnelian Inc. was doing good, it was fine and healthy, and it reported a two percent gain this quarter. Really, they could have called it twenty, it all would have been well. Larry Hornic was a deer living the dream, one of the pack set. A deer running with the wolves and the lemmings. There was a reason Wolves ran Wall Street. He grew up with private schools, and giving parents, who only wished for him to succeed. Succeed he did, he got his Masters, his Majors, and Minors. Did his time as the coffee peon, and now he was a mammal who had peons of his own. Sure, eggs had to be broken, things stepped on, but it was all for the goal of the almighty dollar. Some new associates and partners took some getting used to, business school didn't really prepare him for this set, but it was all good. Full of white powder, and gains, and so much money he might as well been printing it.

Larry was a deer that put in his dues, and so he was, in the back seat of his town car, putting in work as his new friends called.

"So, urm, right. It got taken care of? The, urm, troublesome suite?" Larry smiled as he poured himself a little drink from the mini bar at his side, his driver already putting up the privacy wall.

Can't testify to what you didn't witness.

"Good good, was a bit worried there, about the-yeah, the thing." Larry nodded, so many new words and terms, a hot new set of buzz words to learn.

"Though, right. About our, new competitors, do...do I have anything to worry about?" Did he? He was behind the scenes, money mammal, folks like him didn't get involved in the nitty gritty.

"No? Oh...okay...well, glad that's the case. Right, should have the latest set of transfers done by the weekend. Would you like to join me for a drink afterwards?" Larry offered as was courtesy, though he winced as he pulled the phone from his ear.

Sometimes he hated the fact his new partners were so uncouth.

"I will take that as a no? Okay. Sure. I'll call you on Sunday. Congratulations, you've gotten yourself some prime farmland my friend." Larry snapped the burner flip phone closed, it was a drag he couldn't use a blackberry at least. It was no iCarrot, but still. Was a bit lame, using these cheap things. And so wasteful too, he'd have to throw this one out after this weekend and wait for a new one to be biked over.

Didn't matter though, what's a little looking behind the times in face of a seven figure payout?

Larry sipped his whiskey as he turned to look out his window, the Zootopia night illuminating only him and his moving castle, the deserted streets a fine place to do this sort of fixing.

It was the beginning of a wonderful d-

\-----

The big shiny Benz, a masterpiece of overseas clock work branding crumbled like a tin can. All crumble zones, and aluminum. It would protect its passengers much better than the ancient steel Detrot box that slammed into it going a whopping 70mph going down hill. The big steel beast plowed through the Benz like it was tissue paper, a tin toy blown over by a cub with a tantrum. Over and over it went, stopping as it jammed itself into a alley mouth. The airbag deployed with a delayed bomph, but with a neck brace, snout guard, full body padding, hockey helmet, and seatbelt, what would have been a crippling crash merely turned into a punch drunk stumble. There was no time to feel humbled over aches and pains, get out and do what you came here to do.

Ski mask under the helmet, in case any jam cams saw. Big poofy coat and sky pants and boots to hide the paws and tail. Keep hands concealed in pockets. Deer buck moaning, groaning, pop him in the face twice and dump the mag into his chest. Always double glove so you can toss the piece. Climb over the wreak, get into the alley, there's going to be a Metro Utilities access a block away.

It was time to make the getaway, disappear the evidence, and get home for a long hot soak in the tub.

Wonderful day to get started...


	21. Random AUs and Crossovers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eh, some stuff. Not everything can be coherent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Written and posted raw.

Weightlessness, a stillness. 

Nick Wilde felt his gut relax as the cruiser tipped, his claws dug in tight to his seat belt. Judy's deep violets are wide, she's reaching out, why did she stay? Holding onto the window frame, trying so hard to reach him.

Why did she stay?

Run! Run! He so wished he could scream, but it was too late. For the both of them. He tried to throw out his paw, grab hers, but he felt nothing but the vague tips of her pads under his claw tips. The wind ripped her away, leaving him in his metal tomb to be.

The flashing blues and reds his send off. Her send off. The world was crushing him, he needed to take a breath. He needed to take a breath. He needed to scream.

He sea swallowed him whole. He never was interested in science, physics and the like, no he was a fox of practicalities. So he did not remember the words, terminal velocity or surface tension. 

Unlike the first time, there would be no waterfall to save them. His body, barely protected by their cruiser wanted to snap in half. His vest, his uniform's padding, the air bags that finally deployed, it did nothing at all.

Aside knock his head straight into his head rest, let him die with nothing but painless black. 

Detective Nicolas P. Wilde took a breath.

\----  
  
He hated these plastic Wonder Nines the department made them carry now. All plastic, no soul. Zig Zaires and Locks, they were fine, they were useful, but he so very much loved his old Combat Model Magnum.  
  
It was well enough he did not carry it today, he would not want to risk loosing it. He looked at the otter in front of him as he leaned on the cage door, Emmet Otterton, Florist...husband...monster.  
  
Sitting pretty, demanding a lawyer like it was something someone who did what he did deserved. The cement still clung on everyone in the squad...  
  
"I have been a officer for more twenty-four years...and I thought I had seen every cruelty imaginable..." He sighed, as he pulled his department issued Lock from his holster, and placed it by Otterton's side.  
  
"What-what are you doing?" Came the simpering, coward...coward...disgusting...  
  
"Pick it up." He ordered, darkly as he reached down for his backup. The Schmidt and Weston .32 Bodyguard, it was his ankle piece, he had carried it with him for twenty years on the job. It had saved his life more times he could imagine.  
  
"What?" Shock, disbelief, like this couldn't happen to a animal. His victims probably thought the same thing. He hated animals like that. He pulled back the hammer of his small backup piece.  
  
"It will be your word against mine...you reached for my gun...I had to defend myself...now pick it up..." He growled as he pressed the cold steel between the otter's eyes, and his LT popped the strap of her own sidearm.  
  
Cold steel in his paw...  
  
Detective Sergeant Nicolas P. Wilde took a breath.  
  
===  
  
Cold steel, that's what the lads called it. The long construction rail that some animal had beaten into a make shift trench spike. Knuckles and a sharp enough point. His was already in his paw, a tiny piece of shite revolver he took off a dead officers in his other.  
  
He lost his rifle days ago, there would be no replacement.  
  
A charge, a mad charge against a enemy offensive that was breaking through line after line.  
  
The corporal, that smart funny bunny lass that should have been baking some pies for a husband and minding her warren was screaming at the section. There would be no cowards, no retreat. They would be the last line between the predatory fascists and the city.  
  
That smart funny lass, who saved his life more times than he could count. Who's life he saved in turn.  
  
"Private Wilde! Are the lads ready?!" She screamed over the artillery that blasted overhead.  
  
Fangmire and Snarlov were the last of the lads really, of their squad. Both prayed to the Creator. He had no such illusions that a god had time for mere soldiers like them.  
  
"As we'll ever be!" He returned, pulling down his flat plate helmet.  
  
"It's almost time!" The corporal replied, opening the pocket watch with a click. It seemed to sound out like thunder, she passed the thing to him. The two of them, doing the work of four dead officers and NCOs.  
  
They were running out of time...they were no cowards.  
  
Private Nikolai P. Wilde took a breath.  
  
+++  
  
He was a coward, a coward and a fraud, and he wasted his life. Scams upon scams. Criminality. It was so easy, so very easy.  
  
To trick the animals. The citizenry. Those of power and influence. He built himself a empire. It was worth it all.  
  
Oh so easy it was...but...there were things he could never unsee. Things that demanded to be told. Things that demanded blood.  
  
The madness. The greed. The shame...he should never have opened his door to them...but in the end, he corrected his mistake.  
  
His tutor was there, his guide, the rabbit that set him on a path of redemption. She held his paw as they put the needle in.  
  
She, a Sister of a sacred order held his paw. The paw of a liar, a thief, a killer...of a animal on his death bed.  
  
It was okay, but he was so scarred. He had done wrong by the Creator, who asked all animals love one and other. Who created everything with love and caring.  
  
The Creator was a vengeful and jealous parent though, and he could see forgiveness from Her perhaps.  
  
Even if he did not do it in her name...what he did...at least it could be seen as her work...  
  
He turned to the Sister.  
  
She'd see to it the work was finished. That lives would be cared for, his money put to use...the work would never be over.  
  
Former Hedge Fund Manager Nicky P. Wilde took a breath.  
  
//////  
  
It was not over.  
  
Smoke and dust was still in the air, first responders one and all. If there was a secondary blast, they were all dead...but it didn't matter.  
  
What mattered was getting to work.  
  
"WHERE IS MY STRETCHER!?" He screamed over his shoulder, the whipchord thin cheetah by his side blubbering as both of them were wrist deep into the guts of some Cape Bull.  
  
Rookie to Vet in one atrocity filled lesson.  
  
The Cape Bull was still awake, hooves clutching a cell phone, some random ass video app on it. A dinner plate sized hole should have killed him.  
  
He was screaming for one of the others. Any of the others.  
  
The cheetah was saying something, trying to keep the bull awake, not that it mattered.  
  
Personally he was wondering why it was so important the bull live...the rook could barely pinch the bleed down, he was barely able to tie it off.  
  
One of his trauma surgeons was on sight, he was never so glad to see that hateful hare in his life. She was dragging the stretcher, eight times her weight...  
  
She was a Fighter.  
  
Doctor Nick Wilde took a breath.  
  
~~~~~~~  
  
Fighter.  
  
He had orders. Capture the rogue asset.  
  
Ten years in Special Activities, ten years since Big found him. Running a listening post out of his high school.  
  
Analogue with tapes and hooked in wires, undetectable by sheer obsolescence.  
  
They had turned his school into a whore house, they did unspeakable things...and he recorded it all.  
  
Because one day, a animal like Big would come and find out what the problems were...and he would be useful to such a animal.  
  
Wild purple eyes were locked with his, confusion, unfocused. Not the eyes of a operator, she was afraid.  
  
She did not know what was going on...this was weird.  
  
Standard knee kick, followed by a attempt to grapple, it was textbook, good. What you'd expect from Special Forces and beyond.  
  
First thing Big told him, was don't get bogged down by being afraid of such meat heads.  
  
They were direct, they were simple, so beat them with technique. A shrew could kill a elephant. All one needed to do was know how.  
  
Counter, clinch, prevent the legwork.  
  
She's got no clue what she's doing. Or is she just that good a actor? No, her body is what is doing this.  
  
She's not just some Spec Ops broken toy, she's something more. He didn't know how, but he felt his ears ring as his head snapped back from a skull that impacted down from the sky hit his nose.  
  
Roll back, he was on his feet. She was amazed at herself. A pen was in her paw.  
  
This was going to suck.  
  
Amazing things a animal could do with a pen.  
  
[Name Redacted] took a breath.  
  
```````  
  
Amazing things an animal could do with a pen.  
  
His meter maid vest was a size too small still, but the hat made up for it. He smiled at the rabbit in front of him, with a booted van and no more re-purposed elephant silk stockings in sight.  
  
Little kid siblings who should have been in school laughing their asses off, as he wrote his little notes.  
  
"It's your word against mine!"  
  
"No. It's your word against yours." He smiled.  
  
Click.  
  
Probationary Officer Nick P. Wilde took a breath.  
  
{{{{{{{{{}}}}}}}}}  
  
Click.  
  
He covered wars he liked to have animals know.  
  
War never prepared him for this. He wondered if that was why he was so calm.  
  
He was so unprepared he cracked back into prepared when his brain broke.  
  
There was no smell. No stench...was weird. Thank God for it, but it was weird.  
  
He stood on the edge of a little overhanging shelf built in to the mall structures, a facade he think it was called.  
  
The extra layer that shops had so their store fronts wouldn't be flush against the walls above their doors.  
  
He wondered his little existentialist nightmare as he snapped his pics, each one told a story.  
  
Who was this cheetah? Who wore tattered gym shorts and a wife beater, head band and running spats, but looked to be over four hundred pounds?  
  
Who was this gazelle? Who was holding hands with said fat cheetah even in death? She was quite the looker that one.  
  
Then fire.  
  
He lowered his camera, and looked up, across the way. A rabbit in a rubber jump suit, hazmat suit. Gas mask and thick everything, deadhead proof probably.  
  
A she if the hips were any indication.  
  
Armed to the tips of the ears, and sporting a lot of fire...  
  
She was looking this way.  
  
He froze.  
  
Looking into the eyes of a predator.  
  
Freelance Photo-Journalist Nick Wilde took a breath.  
  
@@@@@  
  
Looking into the eyes of a predator, one exposed their true self.  
  
Coward? Hero? Animal? Monster slayer?  
  
The police girl sputtered, she was dying, and looking up at him.  
  
He who knew no true name, nor a true title, vulpine teeth too long to be real.  
  
She was no coward, a hero probably not, a animal definitely...a monster slayer...no.  
  
A monster now though. She was a fighter, and he could respect that.  
  
The choice was taken, he wrapped his new childe up in a blanket, his red coat billowed behind.  
  
Off to see his Master. Old Bogo working his hands, a parasol shielding her from the rain.  
  
"I found a little lost lamb, may I keep her?" He asked, silly of him, with those orange shades of his.  
  
His master's long ears twitched.  
  
Annoyance extreme.  
  
Involuntary reactions.  
  
Belmont took a breath.  
  
!!!!!!!


	22. The Great Blackout of '18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Someone asked how it would be possible for Nick or Judy have to use a typewriter in the canon setting. Answer, probably never going to happen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Written quickly, was not beta'ed, edits are not in depth. Will continue to edit and refine if I spot problems.

"I bet this is the start of the hacker uprising, the nerds have risen up. They said viruses and shit could take out the city's grid for years, but did they listen? No-"  
  
"Zoobook says it's because some idiot ran his truck into a transformer in the Canals which caused a massive electrical short which caused a cascading overload which overloaded the civilian and commercial power grids." Detective Judy Hopps said as she checked her news feed, dim emergency lighting in the precinct casting odd shadows around her. She looked up to Fangmire, the wolf that shared the opposite side of the cubicle node, with a tired unamused look. She had worked patrol with him, and he had come up into Major Crimes with her and Nick...but god...did he have a mouth. As well as the mindset that they lived in a Tom Clawley novel.  
  
Dingdoodoodoo...  
  
Judy sighed as her phone powered down, and Francine lumbered up pushing a cart. The elephant was still working patrol, in her Service Set As, Judy missed those heady days. When you only had to hand write your booking and incident reports on the premade forms in the Bullpen.  
  
"Chief gave the okay to raid the Kit's down the block, let there be light!" She trumpeted with a smile before slamming down a few battery powered lanterns.  
  
"Great...and they didn't loan us camp generators?" Judy asked, twitching. If they just had some power, they could still turn in their paperwork. She needed to finish up typing and printing out dozens of various arrest records, case reports, and affidavits.  
  
"Nah, they got cleaned up before we got there." Francine replied, before she stomped off cheerily.  
  
"Grrr..." Judy leaned back into her chair and just groaned. Why did this happen to her today? It was Friday, now she'd have to do overtime on Monday just to catch up.  
  
"Relax Carrots, you're going to give yourself a ulcer. Take a nap." Nick said simply from her right. He had been putting his own advice into action, his paws kicked up onto his desk and a sleep mask over his eyes. Why he even had one of those fleece throw blankets.  
  
"Future you is going to hate you for that Nick, now wake up we got work to do." Judy said huffily, she then pushed his paws off the desk. Nick's chair creaked and thumped as his paws hit the ground.  
  
"Touche." Fangmire commented with a laugh. "Hmm, Wilde, you're old. How did they do this back in your day?"  
  
"...I'm only thirty-four! And you got three years on me in seniority!" Nick protested, slamming his hands down. He growled at Fangmire. "Don't make me start a howl, snowy..."  
  
"You wouldn't." Fangmire narrowed his eyes.  
  
The two canines stared down at each other.  
  
Judy hummed...yes...how did the cops of yore handle this? There was probably some old supplies somewhere, typewriters and such. She hopped off her chair and headed towards the Chief's office. She would need his permission to go start digging in storage.  
  
Her ears perked as she neared Bogo's office, a clacking sound coming from behind the door. So there were typewriters in the building! She knocked, which prompted the clacking to stop.  
  
"Enter!" Came the deep voice of her Chief, Judy peaked her head in.  
  
"Sir, I was wondering-" Judy paused as she looked at the scene. Bogo was wearing only a wife beater, his uniform shirt hung on a rack in the corner, a small typewriter sat in front of him.  
  
He looked over his spectacles at Judy.  
  
"It's hot without air conditioning." He said simply, narrowing his eyes. Judy nodded rapidly in agreement...though she could not help but stare at the sight.  
  
One did not just see Mwana Bogo out of uniform.  
  
"Hopps!"  
  
"Ah! Yes sir." She entered the room and saluted promptly. Bogo felt his cheek twitch.  
  
"...?" He stared at her, slowly growing less generous.  
  
"Ah. I mean. Urm. Sir...I have...a...urm...question..." Judy stuttered as she dropped the salute awkwardly.  
  
"Spit it out Hopps." Bogo sighed, reaching up to pinch his snout. Strangely enough he left a slight white stain on his fur.  
  
"Urm..." Judy hesitated.  
  
"Hopps." Bogo began to stand up.  
  
"Um. I was just wondering, do we have any typewriters in storage? You see, there's a clog in paperwork." Judy started, before Bogo held up his hand.  
  
"This station was built in '98, the ZPD replaced all typewriters with computers in '96...why would there be any in this building?" Bogo asked rhetorically.  
  
"But..." Judy eyes flicked towards the typewriter on Bogo's desk. Bogo's eyes flicked towards it with her.  
  
"...I brought it from home." Bogo said simply.  
  
"..."  
  
"...that is not weird Hopps, do you have any other pressing paperwork issues that need attending? If so, I don't care." Bogo said as he returned to writing. Clack, clack, clack. "Ah." He made a straggled noise as he pulled out a little bottle of White Out and leaned in.  
  
Judy slowly backed out of the room.  
  
Perhaps it was best there were no other typewriters in the building.


	23. Interdepartmental Cooperation and Cross-Training

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is probably the only realistic way Judy or Nick would use a typewriter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Written quickly, not beta'ed, and edits are not in depth. Will continue to edit and refine if I spot problems.

Zootopia county comprised of fifteen distinct and separate jurisdictions based around district and administrative lines, it encompassed over five thousand square miles, and had a rough population of forty million animals.  
  
To best protect and serve such a massive and diverse community, the civil government and its many offshoots and branches employed around sixty-eight thousand law enforcement officers not counting the civilian staff.  
  
They compromised of numerous law enforcement agencies, which needed to keep in touch and informed. The Zootopia City Police Department, as one of the premier institutions accomplished this by loaning out specialist officers from its elite investigative squads.  
  
Detectives of suburb reputation and training who could teach and over all advice local departments on the latest and greatest techniques.  
  
Of these detectives was one irate rabbit sitting through what amounted to a grade school allergy presentation.  
  
"So that concludes the current policy on workplace allowed items, food, beverages, and other sundries. Any questions Detective Hopps?" Sheriff Lou Beaverton asked simply.  
  
Sheriff Lou Beaverton was as his name implied, a beaver and a sheriff. He ran the Sheriff's station at Blue Point Valley, a little touristy hotspot up in the mountains north of Zootopia, and was considered a independent law enforcement agency from the ZPD proper. It, along with dozens if not over a hundred local sheriff's offices, constables, deputies, rangers, agents, and other institutions comprised the backbone of law enforcement at Zootopia's outskirts. Not counting various federal agencies, such as Customs and Immigration Protection or the Drugs and Alcohol Bureau. Pronounced CIP and DAB respectively.  
  
These were the things that kept Judy Hopps sane as she shook her head slowly, and Lou Beaverton smiled.  
  
"Good. Now, on to the next issue. Cultural sensitivity with the Bear Tribes." Lou then pulled out a set of flashcards. This Judy paid nominally more attention to, given that ZPD's own Sovereign Tribal Lands module was related towards legalities and discrimination policies. Them bear casinos really could lobby for things. So there was a list of words not to use, a list of terms not to use, a list of gestures not to use, a list of properties and areas considered tribal lands. All well and good, Judy Hopps filed it all away neatly in her mind.  
  
"Right, now that's out of the way, I guess we're done...but seeing as it's nearly five, I think you deserve a short day. Must have been a long drive up the mountain. You're lodged out of old Molly Wald's house right? Got yourself a bedsit?" Lou rambled as he leaned back in his chair, the old wooden thing squeaking ominously under his weight.  
  
"Excuse me Sheriff, I rather get started on my administrative paperwork. I might only be here for sixteen weeks, but you know how the paper work can pile up." Judy smiled tersely, it was true. Paperwork did pile up, and she didn't want to go into OT to deal with it. Sure OT pay was nice, but not at the cost of eye strain and carpal tunnel...plus she was unsure that she was getting OT. They didn't cover that during orientation back at Precinct 1 .Well at least she wasn't Nick...He hadn't been on time for when they were handing out the assignments.  
  
That was a mistake everyone knew never ever to make.  
  
"Oh, of course. I can show you to your workspace." Lou smiled graciously, not feeling Judy's slightly annoyance. He got up with a grunt and waddled along.  
  
"Now, the main office space is divided up among my deputies and inspector Hammer, and I am fraid to say that all the desks are taken up, but since this was planned all months ago, I had Marigold our receptionist slash admin officer do you up a nice office in the break room." Lou boosted.  
  
Judy nodded, okay, she'd not be getting much work done during break time, but it sounded like she'd be getting a bit of privacy.  
  
The breakroom was spacious, with two tables. One a standard round five seater for the deputies, and the other what appeared to be a wolf's school desk. It was big enough for a rabbit, but the chair was high. There was even a little lamp. Was pretty thoughtful. Judy smiled at that, though she cocked her brow at the typewriter. How quaint.  
  
"Ah, well, sorry to say this Sheriff Beavert-" Judy started.  
  
"Call me Lou." He interrupted.  
  
"Right, Lou, I don't need the type writer. I brought my own laptop. Let me just sign on to the department wi-fi and-" Judy started again.  
  
"We don't internet." Lou interrupted again.  
  
"...okay, in that case. I, ah, I can print direct with a USB off a printer-" Judy tried again.  
  
"We don't have one of those, we have a fax machine?" Lou offered.  
  
"...Is there a Kinkajou's near by?" Judy felt her ears fold back.  
  
"Old Ram Steiner runs the local print shop and Western Union, but he closes at four most days." Lou shrugged, and he gestured towards the typewriter.  
  
"It works well enough, me and the boys just type things with these. Ain't too much of a chore, it's a shame most schools don't teach typing right no more. In any case Judy, I'm headed out. Just have Marigold page me if you need anything." Lou waved off, though he stopped to pull a bottle of cola from the staff fridge. He popped the cap with his teeth and waddled off.  
  
"...how hard could it be?" Judy asked lightly as she went off to get the forms needed.  
  
It turns out, massively hard. Most of the pages couldn't even bend any more...  
  
She'd be express ordering a printer the next morning...though...at least she hadn't been Nick...


	24. Special Report at Gilt's, 2026

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes it is in the strangest places where the world connects.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Written quickly, not beta'ed, and edits are not in depth. Will continue to edit and refine if I spot problems.

"My usual Ben."  
  
"You sure sweetie? It's been..." Clawhauser could never say no to Judy, even as she lost the last traces of her innocent youth and matured into a hardy rabbit doe. Nick knew the big cheetah had a soft spot for the both of them, especially when he had to retire from the force. They had given him almost complete control of Gilt's, becoming silent partners. Nick motioned for their friend to pour him a soft gin sour. He never let Judy drink alone.  
  
Judy Hopps was a emotional bunny, Nick knew this in the deepest parts of his soul. She was a rabbit of empathy, who could for a moment look past the minutia and detritus of what society said was true and see laid bared an animal's soul. She was a good person. Someone who could be trusted to try and make the right calls. Not make the right calls, to try and make the right calls. The Nighthowler's case had taught her that, to try. And sometimes, he knew, when she tried. Sometimes it was for dumb reasons, and that perhaps she could let someone else help her.  
  
Nick Wilde had been in a line of work that required him to read animals. In fact, one could say, his work had only changed for a moment. Patrol had used the skills that kept him alive, moving and surviving, becoming a detective used his skills as an artist. A hustler. Though in his new line of work, he had but one product to sell, the idea that a confession would bring salvation. He was the good cop, the bargainer, the salesman, to Judy's pressure cooker, her extortionist, and liar. For a rabbit that strove to do good, she used the tactics of the gutter with great effect...but she never used her skills to shore herself up.  
  
Not even a decade after they had partnered up did she hide herself from the world, he could still read her.  
  
The cracks she left bare, her pressure points and tells. The way her ears folded down, her nose and mouth drooping in shock. Nick knew these tells, and for the last few weeks he wondered why it all had to do with a dead astronaut.  
  
Woolney, botanist and electrical engineer, graduated with honors from a top state school on a metropolis on the other side of the country. It was no Zootopia, it's own ills with poverty and guns so much more magnified...it had been a city where sheep had ruled, an old city like Zootopia. Graduated with honors from a private high school on scholarship. By all appearances she had nothing to do with his Lieutenant Hopps who was on the fast track for captain when Captain Fisk retired. He himself would probably leave her soon, at least in the professional capacity, Special Cases needed a new unit commander...  
  
Still, Woolney was at the center of her turmoil. And it...it hurt that he did not know how to help. It seemed shameful to ask.  
  
About a month ago, news was the third mission to Mars had been aborted due to some science stuff, and the ewe astronaut had been killed in the evacuation. Experts droned on how it had been unavoidable, how animal kind had been lucky that it had been over forty years since the last tragedy in space. History was due its horror. They had been on a routine death notification when she had turned on that radio, and her eyes scrunched up in confusion...and then widened in surprise. Tears shone for the slightest of seconds.  
  
It was disconcerting.  
  
It still hadn't stopped.  
  
So as he sat in their bar with her, he wondered how he could help. He sipped at his gin sour, Judy she preferred three fingers of rye to start with. Country bunnies drank paint thinner moonshine from her stories. Her dad Bunnyburrow's premier brewer of beer and...less taxable products.  
  
"Fluff..." Nick started. He let it die immediately. He used to be so good at this? Why was he messing up? A few thoughts nagged at him, including that little box he kept in his floor safe.  
  
"Nick..." Judy returned. She sipped at her rye, a good eight year brew that she favored. She sighed. And so it was, they repeated another night before a furlough, drinking in sullen silence. Well, day actually. Nick had been surprised years ago how often detectives kept nocturnal schedules, and he appreciated Judy's silent acclimation. She knew it was the same for when they had been patrol officers. The tv softly droning as they drank their before noon spirits. They'd take a ride share back to someone's apartment. That filled him with a strange feeling, which he disregarded. The usual crowd of similarly affect officers and the few foodies that came for Clawhauser's chili cheese fries were there.  
  
Nick sipped at his drink, how could he fix this? He caught it with the corner of his eye, like he usually did. One of Judy's ears perking up, rotating towards a noise.  
  
"Clawhauser, turn the TV up." She called, looking up at the old flatscreen. Nick followed along obediently. What was important to her, was important to him.  
  
The cheetah aimed the remote up and did as he was bid. The little bar going up, 20, 30, 40, 50, 60...  
  
It was of a stunning tigress, all fur products and gym time. The sort of animal you wanted running your PR program. It was NASA Nick noted. This tigress had all the markers of a fixer, the controlled regal expression, the slight fear in her tail. She was someone who knew they would be recorded for all time. It was a live report too. Reporters were asking about the rest of those Mars astronauts. No wonder Judy was interested. He watched a sipped at his gin sour as his partner intently watched, on the edge of her seat. Her grip loose on her glass of rye, she brought it up for another sip as reporters asked their probing questions, and the tigress deflected them all with practiced ease. Building up for what appeared to be a short and sweet bombshell.  
  
The usual we'll have the real press conference later, Q and A available then, just wait. Just listen. Usually these things were history making, last time he heard things like that, it was when an astronaut died and seemingly broke his partner...  
  
"...we have recently analyzed satellite imagery from Mars, and we can confirm that astronaut Sharla Woolney is still alive."  


* * *

  
Judy's eyes widened, her paw went slack and let her heavy glass tumble to the counter with a clink. The entire wold seemed to stand still, even the reporters on screen. Nick turned to her, his mind wondering what he was seeing from his partner. Confusion, relief, disbelief...the release of guilt? There was a blast of noise, as the reporters started asking questions, and the feed cut. The patrons of the bar started animatedly discuss the implications. Nick didn't care about them. He drew in close as did Clawhauser.  
  
"Judy?" Nick offered, taking a hold of her shoulder to steady his partner.  
  
"Sharla's alive?" Judy asked blankly, seemingly amazed.  
  
Nick blinked, Judy knew an astronaut?! What?

 


	25. Social Justice in the Workplace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes we need to hostile elements in our lives.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Written quickly, not beta'ed, and edits are not in depth. Will continue to edit and refine if I spot problems.

Mwana Bogo was a bull of many talents, among them such notables like 'crushing the spirits of rookies' and 'intermediate typing', but there were such a thing as being too talented.

Yes, how he flew too close to the sun...

"Are you kidding with me?" Bogo asked with an unamused glower, his eyes narrowing over his spectacles.

Special Administrative Assistant to the Deputy Assistant Mayor in charge of Media Relations Rachel Rache cringed, a white mink of young age.

"No sir...the...the Mayor's Office is truly concerned that, urm, you have been fostering a hostile workplace...and...we..."

"You wish to infect my station with this college tripe? These...safe spaces?" Bogo asked rhetorically, he glanced over the "suggested course of action".

Safe spaces, trigger word warnings, educational seminars and training, cultural sensitivity modules, openness and inclusive language training...

"Yes, and studies show-" Rachel smiled graciously, perhaps she was getting through to him?

"How old are you, Miss Rache?" Bogo interrupted, he turned aside the papers.

"Ah, twenty-two?" Rache offered, confused.

"I am forty-seven, when I was appointed police chief, I was the second youngest animal to ever be appointed to the position. My family have been ZPD going back four generations." Bogo said slowly, he leaned forward. "I have been a officer of the law since I was seventeen, and do you know what I have seen in that time?"

"Progress?" Rache asked suspiciously.

"Yes, I have seen that, but in my thirty years, I have known one factor to be shared among police. We become jaded. Cynical. And down right MEAN." Bogo leaned in more, looming over the mink. "We see atrocity every day, a never ending reminder that the world we live in is a imperfect cesspool of broken dreams and our jobs as thankless. Two of my shining stars of inclusive harmony helped a dump truck driver pull a baby out of a dumpster yesterday, do you know what that is like?"

"Ah, what, um-"

"It is a horrible breaking feeling, and it was a miracle that the child survived. And you know what they call each other? They call each other slurs, anti-rabbit and anti-fox. I would think you would faint if you were to spend five minutes in their company." Bogo leaned back, releasing the forward pressure of his looming. He narrowed his eyes at this insipid college student. "My officers are a roiling mess of stress, and if they need to call each other names to get by, let them. If they need to bust each others' balls and ovaries, let them. Because if you can't damn yourself, and see the dark humor in things, you'll never last in this line of work. So no. I will not be implementing this new suggested policy."

"Um...you have to though...it passed the commit-"

"Oh god damn it!"


	26. 1986, The Days You Remember

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What makes a cop?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Written quickly, not beta'ed, and edits are not in depth. Will continue to edit and refine if I spot problems.

Mwana Bogo was a Cape Buffalo, he was old Police. His father had been a cop. His father's father had been a cop. His father's father's father had been a cop. Their brothers, their sisters, his cousins. There were expectations for a Bogo. The old relations, the graft, the deals, the winks and nods. There were expectations for certain folk. Mwana Bogo felt his young stomachs turn, his skin tingle in fear, his horns felt numb. He was fresh from the academy, and assigned to a radio car. Alone. Budget cuts. Crime was rampant, there was a Go Dust epidemic, disease and moral corruption. It was not a good time to be a cop. Mwana Bogo felt his heart sink.  
  
Noise complaint call on a City Council member, a fellow Cape Buffalo, Kiwbe Asha had juice...he was a regular at the Bogos' Founding Day celebrations. He loved Mwana senior's fire roasted kababs. Ninth in a month, he would give a warning...he only had to give a warning...Mwana put on his watch cap and got out the car. He was a bulky bull, he played defensive line in high school. His uniform stretched with him, as he slowly made his way up the door.  
  
"Why must you be like this?!" Screaming coming from the house. Just a warning. Mwana knocked. No response. Hateful words all around. Someone needed to get out of the house...Asha's wife and him always smelled of antiseptic cream. Bandages around the wrists and arms.  
  
"This is the ZPD, I need to speak with the owner of this home! SIR OR MA'AM!" Mwana called out, loudly, his voice thankfully not cracking. Still no answer. He fidgeted, his tail coming up to flick. This...this was not good. Not how he wanted his day to go. Mwana felt his heart sink more.  
  
CRASH!  
  
"Hello?!" Mwana Bogo paused, was this exigent circumstances?  
  
"help meeeeee!"  
  
Well...that definitely was. Mwana hesitated for a scant moment.  
  
CRASH!  
  
His hoof kicked the door down, as his hand went for his baton.  
  
"ZPD, ZPD, hands where I can see them!" Mwana called out, stalking forward. He heard weeping, and as he turned to look into a kitchen, he saw Kiwbe Asha weeping into a bottle of scotch. He didn't look up as Mwana paused at the door.  
  
CRASH!  
  
Mwana hesitated, there was no backup, no radio on his belt, he would be leaving an animal at his back...he had to do it. Mwana looked up, the noise was coming from upstairs. His hooves pounded on the wood, as he ran up.  
  
Kiwbe Asha had married a northerner, a cow by the name of Joan Hesser, now Joan Asha nee Hesser. She was a solidly built sow, with good strong hooves and back. She looked good in a cocktail dress. She was taking her frustration out on the dry wall, putting her hooves through it like paper. So blinded by rage, she did not even recognize Mwana, as a police officer or a familiar face. No, she screamed and hollered and...and wept. She grabbed a vase and swung at him. Mwana dodged before he pushed forward into her center, he slammed her into a wall.  
  
"Don't resist! Stay still!" He ordered as he grappled with her. She fought like a demon possessed. He felt strong limbs batter at his chest before he got the cuffs on her. She just wildly writhed. So maddened was she.  
  
Mwana panted as he disengaged and tried to stand up. He looked around, why was there locks but no knob on this door? He looked into the room, a aged and wrinkled Cape Buffalo sow looked up from the floor. Her eye swelling under her hands. She dressed in a simple night gown and there was a spilled bed pan. The room stank...she was crying too, like all others in this home.  
  
"I...i...i need to go to school...mister Peters will be so mad...I'm sorry...I'm sorry." The old sow babbled as she tried to curl up into a ball.  
  
Mwana felt his stomachs clench, his heart sink further. What...what was going on...he...he needed help. He should call his father. No. His watch supervisor. What...what could he do?  
  
"...kid...kid...you're Mwana's boy right?" City Council member Kimbe Asha collapsed on the stairs, trying to climb up. "You...you can't tell...alright? You can't tell...we...we need to talk with your...pa..."  
  
Kimbe vomited and went still as his wife grew sullen and the old sow went quiet.  
  
What the fuck was he suppose to do?


	27. The Soul Knows, It Shares(Road and Amusement)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What can you do? What can a you do?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Written quickly, not beta'ed, and edits are not in depth. Will continue to edit and refine if I spot problems.

Nick Wilde was an amusement park owner. It was thrilling, exciting, it made him content. But he was no tough fox. Even his childhood growing up in Happytown did not prepare him for this fear. He felt it stab him deep as he drove down the back roads of the outskirts of the Rainforest District, where it met the canals. A few miles away from his beloved park. A black van with tinted windows followed him, and it made him nervous. He grew up in a place where you never stopped completely at a intersection, never left your doors unlocked, but this was different. They tired to kill him.  
  
They had rammed his rear bumper, his station wagon squealing as a cargo train barreled down a track. A crossing a few miles back. He had gunned it in response, he was a kit of Happytown after all, but he was no getaway driver. They had followed after, and now his frugal personal life was going to kill him. It was going to kill him.  
  
Hmph.  
  
Oh, and did he mention he was also going insane?  
  
He looked into the review mirror. And it was not his face that reflected back. It was him, but not. Dirty, and unkept, his scruff and fur on verge of mange. This version of him scowled at him, dressed not in a suit and tie, but a heavy canvas coat, a bandolier strung across his chest. There was a look of disdain there.  
  
BUMP.  
  
Nick Wilde's teeth clattered as his station wagon shook, they were going to ram him off the road and into the water at this point.  
  
Drive like you mean it.  
  
Nick blinked as he looked back at the rearview, as he stomped on the gas. He needed to evade them, but his wagon didn't have the juice....where did he know that term from?  
  
"I can't." Nick offered at the fox in the mirror, grim faced and full of disgust. "I can't." His voice cracked, he was afraid. He was going to die.  
  
...hmph.  
  
Nick felt tears in his eyes as he tried to push his car faster. He felt something in his paws. On his shoulders. A great weight.  
  
Let me then.  
  
Nick looked back into the mirror, and then he felt his heart jump. His eyes dilated, and his body wanted to clench, seize, but he didn't as he instead went limp.  
  
Nick Wilde was a Road Warrior. A former pursuit cop before the resource wars ruined the world, and turned everything into a desert that not even the camels could stomach or barred from most the bits of green that what was left of the soldiers held onto with fanatic protection. He scowled at this heap, it was no Black on Black. And not even the gall to have a proper piece around. He had found himself in quiet the mess, another mess. He tested the engine, it was good, had a dependable thrum.  
  
It was time to put it through its paces.


	28. Sense8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dawn Bellweather feels the madness at the edges of her mind. She is afraid.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Written quickly, not beta'ed, and edits are not in depth. Will continue to edit and refine if I spot problems.

Dawn Bellwether was going mad, she knew this deeply in her heart as she scurried down her usual shortcut from her work at City Hall to the Metro Station that would take her to her Meadowlands condo. She had been feeling watched, distrustful, her body ached, and her head hurt. An all consuming thought that someone was out to get her...she was seeing animals that were not there. Animals that saw her back. Animals she saw back. She felt...things. Smelled them. Heard them. Tasted them. She was going mad.

A naked fox ate breakfast with her, he had what appeared to be a fine bouillabaisse and a glass of wine in his bare fur. He sat next to her at her little kitchen nook table, on the spare stool as she had her cereal and toast. He locked eyes with her, and she saw her own fear in his. They ate in silence, and they did not talk. Her home security camera showed he was not there.

When Dawn took the train to work, she blinked and suddenly she was in a military vehicle. It smelled of piss and body musk. Animals of all sorts were around, all in desert camo of the military. Only one saw her, a bear in a blue helmet and black armor who wore a different uniform. She turned away with shame. Or was it him? When Dawn opened her eyes, she was on the same beaten train car she took to work every day.

Her grandfather had been institutionalized for this sort of thing. He thought predators were out to eat him, eat his family. That the TV controlled people's minds and tricked them into thinking predators were dangerous. Dawn had been eight years old when her parents had to put peepaw in a home. The mouse wearing a white shirt and black tie walked ahead of her, into a city that spoke nothing they understood, children needed his help.

Why did she feel even more watched? Dawn quailed at the thought, would they give her pills like peepaw? Who could barely move or speak, and sat by a window all day long. How come she felt so watched. She sniffed at the air, at the stank of Zootopia.

Watch out.

The words came too late as she felt something stick into her back. There was a sizzle of electrodes, the smell of burning wool. Her back heated up. She felt a jolt of fear as she flinched and stumbled. She looked back

"Idiot, never shoot at a sheep. Their wool can interfere, you need to get personal." Came a growling voice, as a pair of weasels stalked up. Dawn Bellweather's eyes widened, she wanted to scream, but the weasel already had a paw clamped down on her face and she was pinned.

"You're coming with us sweetie." The one with the broken voice menaced, Dawn felt fear. He pinned her down easily and ripped her purse away.

Don't show fear.

There was a rabbit, Dawn could see her over his shoulder as she strained to look at her attackers. A rabbit in suit, black and severe. Grey fur and eyes hidden behind sunglasses. She locked eyes on her.

Don't show fear.

The weasel flipped Dawn onto her back.

"Help me."

"What was that?" Duke Weaselton asked before he felt Dawn Bellweather's manicured hoof slam into his slim belly.

He had a chance to scream as he felt two thumbs press into his eyes, his skull clamped in a powerful grip.

He'd wake up dumped in front of an emergency room the day after, bones broken.


	29. The Soul Knows, It Shares(Homemaking and The Ring)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What can you share?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Written quickly, not beta'ed, and edits are not in depth. Will continue to edit and refine if I spot problems.

Judy Hopps felt drowsy, as she laid back in the comfort of her sleepflex bed. Memory foam and all sorts of jazz, one of her sponsors. At the tender age of 24 her career was in its prime, she had another six years in before her joints ached and her brain swelled. That was the price she paid. She accepted that. They called her the Jackhammer, hollow weight champ two years running. The dull ache in her fingers and toes testament to her craft, her title. Hands of stone. Million dollar purses, endorsements and brands. She was a house hold name, her face on those colorful energy drinks. Prices to be paid, for success. Names to please, like Big and Bogo.

Her eyes fell close, and she felt the deep dark sleep take her. The sleep the small bottle of pills at her bedside gave her. Her last sight was of the mirror over her bed, shiny and clean.

She couldn't move. Her heart skipped a beat as she opened her eyes. She was sitting down, a big animal's back in her sight...and herself. Her but not her. Dressed in a mousy blouse that she scorned in her childhood. Her face was swollen, pained. She wept as the big animal punched her. The Jackhammer could feel the chair creak, her body move. No pain. Bad technique, animal was a ram. He limped wristed it.

Help me.

Judy's eyes locked onto her doppelganger.

"Tell me where the fox is hiding!" The ram demanded, pulling at her ears. Not-Judy let out a whine, a rabbit scream.

"I don't know!" She wept and wept.

"Fucking useless. You better fess up, lest they let Lester in. And let me tell you, Lester is a fucking monster." The ram warned as he pushed the rabbit's head away. He scoffed.

"They'll fucking feed you to the bears. You want that? Tell me where the fox is, and I promise they'll find you. Give you a nice burial in that hick town of yours."

"I don't know! Why are you hurting me?!" She sobbed now.

"Because you are lying to me! Now tell me." The ram threw another punch, and Judy winced at her counter part's pain.

Tuck your chin. Flex your core. You can beat this.

"I can't." The rabbit wept, she bowed her head, tried to curl. "I can't." She was answering not the ram.

"Fuck, I'm going to get a bite. Let you think about this, so think hard. Is that fox really worth it?" The ram mocked as he slapped the rabbit on the cheek in a almost playful way. He fixed her blouse collar and snorted, leaving the room. The door closed with a definite click.

Hey...hey...you can survive this. Judy Hopps rocked in place, earnestly she shared that.

"I can't...I won't...for...Nick..." The rabbit whispered.

Judy grit her teeth, her lip bleed, she ground her bucks into points for her pay-per-view events. She made a choice, there was rope around her.

Then let me.

Warmth, and cold. She was so cold. She needed salvation. A moment of stillness and then a snap as everything came into focus. Her stomach jumped.

Judy "The Jackhammer" Hopps could never recall a time her body felt so on fire, so pained and weak, though she scoffed at it all. A few deep breathes, a mantra, there was nothing but dull soreness, she wiggled her jaw, flexed her nose, nothing broken, her eyes were not swollen. She felt tired. No matter. No matter. She was the Jackhammer.

The chair creaked under her, and with a grunt she hopped up and fell back. It splintered into pieces, as with a harsh spit of bloody phlegm, the Jackhammer was on her paws. Her hand wrapping around a chair leg like a single stick.

There had been names to please...the price for success. She hopped up, lashing out at the single bare bulb in the room.

The price for success...for survival...Darkness.


	30. The Truth of the Matter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fru Fru Big has never ever lied to herself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Written quickly, not beta'ed, and edits are not in depth. Will continue to edit and refine if I spot problems.

Fru Fru Big was no brainless socialite, despite what some of the tabloid websites thought. She had her degree in anesthesiology, she could go back to her nurse job in Little Rodentia working for Doctor Hermit...She knew full well what her father did. He ran numbers, worked union fraud, had protection rackets and loan and book operations. Underground casinos, doctored olive oil, smuggled cigarettes and liquor. Some investment and white collar stuff, that honestly went over her head. Nicky, poor Nicky, he was their foray into real estate and venture capitalism, and he worked his due. Could have been a made guy by now...They were one of the few families to stay true to tradition. No sex trafficking, no drugs, no war. You handle it with the commission, with a sit down, things were about business, not some frat boy idea of respect and strength. You did this to make money, protect your own, and not get crushed by the cops...

But that didn't really matter. Because in the end, Daddy iced people.

Daddy, oh how she loved him. He was a wonderful father, he supported her, made time. He made time. Always at her recitals and her plays, always told her she could succeed even if she fell. He did not spoil her. He did not threaten Alfonso, Ally who she loved with all her heart and who's children she carried. Ally who was Drug Sales rep, a normal person. She felt guilty, a little bit, for bringing him into the life. Not that he really knew, he had no interest in the second cell phone she had, or why Raymond and Kevin lived in the guest house of the house Daddy bought her. He promised her he'd have no interest, and that he'd take care of their children.

She was no longer a Big...but she was Big all the same.

Fru Fru knew that would not happen, just as she tried to stay away, her own would try...and they would fall in...except, maybe Judy would help her keep them from this all...

But she knew the truth. Judy Hopps was a cop that would break the rules for real justice. She was a hero, a good person, there was no doubt on that...but Fru Fru knew Judy was never going to be a clean cop. She couldn't be, when she and Nicky dragged that idiot weasel into Daddy's study. She would never be clean again. Judy would only bring the equilibrium of the old ways. The old traditions. Of understandings and deals. The rabbit cop would never be bribed, she would never be on the take, but the relationship she had was all the same of the old ways. Fru Fru would have to take advantage of that.

It wasn't like that though. Judy would take too, it would be a give and take....but maybe, in Fru Fru's dreams, Judy would make her children into something more.

So when Daddy got too old, and moved to the sunny meadows, and her brother Johnny took over, she steered him to keep with the old ways. There would be no talk of drugs, no whores houses, no death.

Johnny was always too hot headed...he was steering them to war with the Stoats and the Rats. He needed to...Cool Off.

Kozlov liked her more, Raymond and Kevin had been shadowing her since high school. The bears all respected those three. And with them, came the shrews working book and protection in Little Rodentia, the Union men, those took convincing.

In the end, the Stoats and the Rats backed off, respect was where it was due, apologies and assurances...tips to certain hero cops. Koslov became the new face of Tundra Town. Tor and burner phones and all sorts of complicated stuff kept her away, out of the spot light, no one thought she was still in. She baked, and stayed home, and worked part time while her little ones were in daycare and kindergarden.

No fed, no cop, no snitch knew she pulled the strings...that Koslov didn't take over, and get rid of her brother...that the Big family was still run by a Big.

Judy never told. She would pressure, take a guy or two, had too, when the guys got rough, animals got hurt. It was unacceptable.

Fru Fru could balance it though. Balance it because it all depended on it. Because Judy and Nicky were her kids ticket out of the life. Even if they stunk of it as much as she...they were still a little step above, just enough.

Judy B. Gino would enter the Police Academy as Judy and Nicky slowed down, she would never know the life. She went to a good school, lived away from the old neighborhood, Ally fussed over her, spoiled her.

Though, really, it wouldn't be. It was the truth of the matter.

Her darling little girl, first day of on the job, took out one of some nobody elephant's guys. Some idiot with big dreams, who controlled a couple of blocks and a rundown housing project. He was a no body.

A no body that thought he could come to her home, Fru Fru BIG's home, and try and kill a cop's mom and dad. Kevin and Raymond were made capos years ago, there was no need for a soldier to live with her no more.

There was no sign she was in the life. Except when those elephants came in, they didn't know she kept a pellet gun in her drawer. A illegal gun, with illegal ammo, chock full of military grade poison.

People would know, and her darling little girl would never be a cop like she dreamed. She would not be able to leave this life.

That was not the truth of the matter.

She had five acres, she had lye and shovels, Ally knew some chemistry. Fru Fru knew that what she gave Judy and Nicky would have to be worth it, but they were friends. Connections, who came regardless, so her kids could get out. They would be out.

Fru Fru was no brainless socialite. She was a mother.

And that was the truth of the matter.


	31. Cold Case, Wilde John

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The story of John Wilde, and the justice he deserves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Written quickly, not beta'ed, and edits are not in depth. Will continue to edit and refine if I spot problems.  
> Song Reference: Depeche Mode, Everything Counts.

_The handshake_  
 _Seals the contract_  
 _From the contract_  
 _There's no turning back_  
 _The turning point_  
 _Of a career_  
 _A career, of being insincere_  
 _The holiday_  
 _Was fun packed_  
 _The contract_  
 _Still intact_  
 _The grabbing hands_  
 _Grab all they can_  
 _All for themselves_  
 _After all_  
 _It's a competitive world_  
  
-Click  
  
It was a sweltering hot summer day in Zootopia, the hottest day on record so far. John Wilde took a breath, as he stared up at the bank entrance from his car. He panted, his little budget possum station wagon too old for a reliable AC. It was time for his appointment with the loan officer, yeah, it was time for his appointment. He reached into his glovebox, for the small little flask he kept there, to his wife's disapproval.  
  
"Come on John boy, a little nip and a bright smile. Never let them see you down." He looked up into the cracked rearview mirror, he brought the flask to his lips and took a sip.  
  
Just a sip.  
  
Back in the glovebox it went. John fixed his eyes back into the rearview...and the picture of Mira and Nicolas that hung from it next to the air freshener and Sacred Lady medallion.  
  
"Smile. For them." He told himself cheerfully, fixing his tie and collar, he popped a mint and grabbed his little case with all his work in it. His business plan, his collateral, his tax and credit forms, even the ten grand that he and Mira had worked so hard on to save for a downpayment on the space. All that was needed was a little more to get the dream off the ground. Mira and little Nicky would be so proud of him, no longer would he have to work at the factory, no. He would put what his papa taught him to the test here in Zootopia, where anyone could be anything.  
  
He got out, with his case in hand, and rocked his hip into the door.  
  
Yeah, where anyone could be anything. Where he could teach his son the master tailor's craft.

* * *

  
John Wilde was a brave fox, he was a sturdy fox, he had survived the draft. He had survived the jungle. He felt his life leak out, in the dark.  
  
He pressed hard. He pressed so hard. He was ripping the picture. Their picture...  
  
John Wilde felt his heart slow.  
  
Why?

* * *

  
Detective Jacob Woolstein needed a sheering, as he felt himself cook in the evidence archive. A small case box in his hooves. Another runaway deadbeat, whose wife couldn't understand, whose kid brawled. What a monster. Took the car and the life savings and vamoosed.  
  
Reynards were suppose to stay with their vixens, their kits. They might have been sneaky folk, but they took care of their family, and you had to respect that. Jacob Woolstein sighed, he wished it wasn't like that. The look on that kit's face. It was clear as day though...  
  
He hauled that box up and onto the shelf, drew a marker from his pocket. He read the placard one last time.  
  
MM#2121  
Wilde, John  
July-15-89/Dec-20-89  
  
With a sigh, he wrote what he needed to.  
  
Cold Case. Det. J Woolstein.

* * *

  
Thirty years later...


	32. Cold Case, The Discovery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A bad place to be found, in the sandy rocks of the Canyonlands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Written quickly, not beta'ed, and edits are not in depth. Will continue to edit and refine if I spot problems.

Thirty Years Later...  
  
"So what do we have here Zoom?" Lilianna Charger asked as she approached the scene, she worked Anicide out of Sahara Square's Precinct 14. A cheetah in the prime of her life, career detective that could still fit into her graduation dress blues. Her toe claws dug into the soft reddish rocks that made up the southwest quad of the Square. Canyonlands it was called. She was glad she was planning on running that night, the mesh slats of her tracksuit kept her cool in the sizzling heat and her crompons were well suited for the terrain...even if they were getting chewed up a bit.  
  
"Park and Rec found our DB, looking for lost tourists from Europa who wanted that Look of the wall." Came the response, from the strong Barbary Ram in the suit who did not seem to mind the heat at all. Even by all accounts he should have been cooking in the black outfit. Zuma lu'Dima, or as his unit called him Zoom, was a fifth generation Zootopian, not that his name was a indication. He wore a gold ring around his horn, like some fresh out off the boat Afrikaner. He puffed a little, but he seemed so much surer than her as he lead her past the tape.  
  
"Off trail, Park and Rec says they cut this place off the map in '91. A little too dangerous, a little too unpopular. Stopped with upkeep. Figured some tourists would come down here to hide from the sun." Zoom explained. The trail was wide and uneven, and Lilianna could imagine it would have been a challenge for her Jeep. It led down to a old animal-made cave, a little refugee. Probably a campsite or picnic area, too bad it was in a shit spot.  
  
No real view of the Wall, or the Square near here.  
  
She wondered how the ancient looking station wagon could have made it down here, with its fake plastic wood and rolled down driver's side window.  
  
"They find the touries?" Lilliana asked, would be a bad surprised if they showed up after all.  
  
"Yeah, cooking eggs on rocks like they all do. Oh, forgot to mention, we got a mummy." Zoom added, bringing her around back of the station wagon. Some of Percy's crime scene boys were working on it, setting up lights and a tarp and taking pics. Doc Morrison was there, the old camel wearing ice packs over his scrubs and between his humps.  
  
Lillianna blinked as she looked over the camel's shoulder. There it was, laying on its side in the trunk. Probably ran out of gas or couldn't get out of the area because of the slope...  
  
"This is a first for me." Lilliana commented at the sight, of some sort of wilted...thing...that looked mummy-ish. Brittle red fur, around the ears, wearing what looked to be a really expensive suit. Hand stitched everything, probably cost more than her car payment. Looked really stylish, if hipsterish. Though he seemed to be laying on a bunch of paper...  
  
"So Smokestack, what do we have here? Some lost rich canine with no sense coming down here for some reason or another?" Lilliana asked as the camel probed the body. The cheetah knew what the desert could do to the unwary, she saw the PSAs and the TV shows like everyone else. Mammal could be gone and dust like that  
  
"No, looks like we got penetrating trauma...definitely suspicious circs. Male canine of some sort, vulpine judging by the hair. Was a fighter, looks like he was trying to stop the bleeding." Morrison said sadly, Lilliana's ears flicked. The doc didn't get sad over bodies, not usually at least. The doc lifted the dead animal's hands off his belly, deftly letting Percy step in. Percy Little, Jackal, not a Jackal name though. The black eyes that stared from behind the crime scene coveralls, seemed to scan the place with lasers. He took the clump of paper out from where the Doc lifted up the hands.  
  
Lilliana let a soft hiss.  
  
It was a ragged brown mess, dry and crumbly, and it would take all of Percy's all not inconsiderable power to restore it...but the edges gave it away. Crayon and marker, and two Es. One cursive and big, adult. The other, scribbly and lopsided, childish. Bad way for a animal to go...trying to stop the bleeding with something like that.  
  
"You got a estimated TOD yet? A couple months? A year?" Lilliana asked, yeah, the desert could do this to a animal in month probably. It was a dry winter, this place was arid. No moisture for the corpse to turn to sludge.  
  
"Going to have to say sometime between thirty and thirty five."  
  
"Month, got it."  
  
"Years."  
  
"What?" Lilliana asked, her eyes widening.  
  
"Won't be able to tell you anything until I have him on a slab, but by the looks of that 8-Track player, and some of these papers, he's been here since '89." Morrison said with detached logic, pointing to what looked like a date stamp on something tax related under the body. He then pointed to the thing sitting under the dash. "Last time I saw one of those was '84."  
  
"Do-is there a ID at least?" Lilliana felt herself sweat, cold case. Cold cases were hard.  
  
"Wallet is under his other hip by the feel of things, going to have to extract it at the morgue, but I am sure one of these papers might have a name. Percy, would you be so kind." Morrison asked as he motioned for the jackal to help him with the gurney. It was...easy. Like paper mache. Percy started to rummage after that, taking pictures, sketching, cataloging, bagging. The picture of the family under the rearview, with the religious medal.  
  
Fox had been a believer. Or wanted to keep up appearances.  
  
The registration was in the glovebox along with a old steel flask, which had leaked it seemed. The old teletype faded and see through.  
  
"This...is old Army sigil, infantry I think, my uncle had one of these." Percy said softly as he bagged the flask.  
  
"Seems familiar, might have seen that at the VA once." Zoom mentioned as he got in for the sloppy seconds. Lilliana meanwhile used the tried and true technique of detectives everywhere.  
  
She squinted.  
  
"John Wil, Wiles, Wides, Wilde? No-yeah. John Wilde. Car is registered to a John Wilde. With a E. Can't make out a address." She reported as she let one of Percy's minions take the slip away. This one was Jade? Chad? They all looked the same in the space suits.  
  
"That seems familiar too." Zoom replied.  
  
"DMV probably still has the records stashed around somewhere, R and I can probably get us something." Lilliana nodded.  
  
It would have to be a start.


	33. Cold Case, Due Diligence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Work the case, work the leads, work for the victim.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Written quickly, not beta'ed, and edits are not in depth. Will continue to edit and refine if I spot problems.

Zoom slapped down the dark brown document packet onto Lilliana's table with a disgruntled hoof.  
  
"I still say that's cheating." He mentioned sourly as he dragged his chair up so he could start unpaking the thing. What had been a box in 1989 had turned into a single packet that had been shoved into another box that had been misfiled at the end of the stacks, with every other light evidence cold Missing Mammal case in the building. It was lucky that the computer had known this file even existed.  
  
"Savana Central rules baby." Lilliana retorted as she sat up straight and wheeled herself to his side.  
  
"Primary is a Jacob Woolstein, chances he's retired. Or dead. Let's see, got some pics." Zoom offered the old zodiac film picture to his partner. It was of a healthy looking fox in factory coveralls at some park picnic with other animals of the same like, Lilliana was surprised. That suit of his definitely was beyond this fox's means. Purr-Royace Engines. They made aircraft engines back in the 80s right here in Zootopia.  
  
"For such a light file, Woolstein was thorough. Lots of notes, did the work. John Wilde disappeared in July with ten Gs and the family car." Zoom commented as he pulled out a full eighty page mini-note pad and leafed through it. After that it was the usual, a look out on bank activity(none), hospital entrance(none), and bus and rail stations(none). The two of them knew why that was. She took the notes and speed through them.  
  
"Didn't do enough." Lilliana returned...but she felt her teeth click, no that was unfair. By the looks of things, Woolstein did do the work. There were names, places, possible people that meant him or the family harm, as well as many notes that he might have suffered a random robbery and death... Non-union fox in Zootopia? Anti-government radicals?  
  
"Says here our guy was a soldier in 'Nam. Army Commendation Medal, PL...?" Lilliana commented, that was a wrinkle. She didn't know what that meant in particular, but her partner, a W.O.T. veteran would know.  
  
"Means he did something brave enough to get a medal, but not in the shit. Don't know what PL means." Zoom answered his partner's curiosity with a shrug. Another wrinkle. Animal brave enough to get a medal, strong enough to fight for life, what was he doing in the back of his own car then?  
  
"So, what was the sitch back then?" Zoom asked his own question.  
  
"Woolstein's got so many abbreviations in here that I can't tell, he has them on every page...but...hmm...the one that shows up most is that. Well...this guy just up and left his family. I can guess what D and E mean." Lilliana held up a page that said Purr-Royace Anti-Union DE. There was a pause though, as she drew closer to the end. Heroin addict?  
  
"Or maybe not. Woolstein might have thought he had a smack habit. I think we need to be able to get a talk with this guy. R and I can see if the family still lives in Zootopia." Lilliana closed the little notepad.

* * *

  
Jacob Woolstein was a burly fellow, compact army style horn care, and full of muscle. Older than Wilde had been when he had been missing. Like twenty dollar suits like any flatfoot. You knew by the look of him, that he was a old schooler, probably had a sap in his side along with he department issue revolver.  
  
Lilliana could see it in her mind's eye. Even as Woolstein pushed a little joystick and had his little motor chair towards them. A nurse mindful in the background. The horns were cut down, the wool cut close, the body frail and thin.  
  
Happy Fields Assisted Living, anything but happy.  
  
"You're not my ingrate grand kids...unless one of them decided to get into your pants..." The brusque and gruff voice was strong, even if his shoulders shivered. He seemed to reach for something in his pocket before he realized it was not there. Smokes probably.  
  
"No sir, I'm detective Charger, out of Precinct 14." Lilliana began.  
  
"Sahara Square, you're outside your district missy." Woolstein mentioned and said no more. Lilliana stayed silent for a moment. The ram's gaze wondered off, for someone trusted with their own mobility, it seemed he was getting there. Doddering.  
  
"I wish to speak to you about a case you worked in 89, missing mammal..."  
  
"Annhauser, female pig. Edison, male horse. Lewis, male wolf. Lister, male wolf. Mason, female wolf. Wilde, male fox." Woolstein listed off the names like they were nothing. His face twitched as his frown deepened with those wrinkly jowls. He appeared unhappy.  
  
"Unfinished business from '89 all, which one brings you here?" Woolstein asked as he looked away again.  
  
Okay, maybe not doddering. Definitely an asshole.  
  
"Well, sir, I am here about John Wilde. He-." Lilliana didn't get a chance to continue.  
  
"He's dead, for a long time, you wouldn't be here otherwise, I missed something. Did someone rob him and brick him up in some basement or crawlspace?" Woolstein flicked his ears.  
  
"We don't know what happened, but we found his body yes. I was hoping to ask you about your notes. Some names, get some ideas..." Lilliana was off script now, this was too outside her wheelhouse. She was better when the bodies were hot, and her fellow officers were not mostly dead.  
  
"Bah, you have my notes, it's all there. Though given he's dead...probably should have looked more at those FLF bastards. You don't need me." Woolstein backed up, he started to rotate away.  
  
"Detective!" Lilliana reached out for a handlebar, yeah, this was not working out. This was off script and now she had lost control. A animal in their 80s was giving her the business.  
  
"Don't they teach you anything these days? Hmph...his wife still lives in Happytown last I heard, you should probably tell her." Woolstein looked up at her paw, unable to look back at her. He groaned as he adjusted himself.  
  
"Nurse. I would like to go to bed." Woolstein croaked out and with that Lilliana had to let him go, didn't want to explain to her captain why she needed to be escorted out of a old folks home.

* * *

  
Woolstein was right, Mira Wilde still lived in Happytown, same apartment and same building. Forty years she lived there probably. Lilliana felt nervous. Woolstein was very detailed, Mira had expectations, she had hopes, she believed. She believed to the last. Even among the small letter combos, and other weird writing, he was clear. She clung to belief.  
  
Zoom was the one to knock, another ram with bad news.  
  
Lilliana could smell a spam stew, heart clogging, with egg and potatoes and onions, in brown sauce. Not something for a widower to eat alone. Perhaps the son was still in the picture.  
  
And he was.  
  
The door opened, a little fox kit, in tee and shorts. Sad eyed and sullen, heartbroken. Tail tucked, ears folded, red eyed. Poor and struggling. Now poor and fatherless.  
  
A slim built renaryd with polished fine mirrored designer glasses looked at them. He wore grey sweatpants and a mesh workout shirt, a Velcro armband for his phone still on his arm. Mid 30s, health nut., still had the musk of a run on him Happy. Confused at strangers.  
  
"Can I help you...officers?" Was able to spot a cop off the bat, not surprising considering the neighborhood.  
  
"Yes, we are here to speak with a Mira Wilde." Zoom did not assume things, this was just a fox at their "next of kin notification". He wasn't the son until he was.  
  
"That's my mom...can I ask what this is about? John Wilde's son had a master poker face. No tells, no overt signs of distress. Lilliana's mind grabbed onto it, he was cautious. Of the police. Of this appearance. That meant something. Probably.  
  
"It is about John Wilde." Zoom didn't blurt it out, no you needed to let them sit down, make sure they were ready. Wilde's son clenched slightly, something went through his head. He had thoughts. They were getting through the shields. Lilliana silently watched.  
  
"Come in. Please wipe your feet. Mother, we have guests." He got out of the way a moment later, he trusted a little more than his nature suggested.  
  
The renyard walked off, back into the little family apartment, towards the tiny kitchen. Lilliana took a opportunity to look at the entrance hall. Soothing green wall paper, well cared for, fresh, a polished mirror with little hall table right after. Then pictures. No grandkids, no extended family, a bunch of the kit. Of the lost John Wilde. Seemed happy.  
  
"Lil, I think I remember why Wilde is familiar." Zoom softly mentioned, his voice tight with that "it will make things complicated" tone.  
  
Lilliana glanced to him. He pointed to the bowl that sat on the hall table.  
  
There was a wallet among the keys. Brown snake leather, nice and high end, a big billfold for a small apartment.  
  
It needed to be big though, for that extra fold of cheap government plastic and rubber, for the extra bit of bulk of metal.  
  
Oh. That made things a little complicated.


	34. Cold Case, First Speculations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes all you can do is work hard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Written quickly, not beta'ed, and edits are not in depth. Will continue to edit and refine if I spot problems.

She was beautiful, dressed in pale sky blue sun dress, and her sunday best hat. Classical beauty in an age of feathered manes and big hair. Her nice well taken care of pocketbook, on the thin strap. A gift from a devoted husband who couldn't buy her gold, or silver, but could buy her this. This boutique thing that she could be proud of, the talk of the church ladies and the like.  
  
A love of someone's life, immortalized in film.  
  
Mira Wilde is barely sixty, she was not as old as her husband. A lifetime of work proved the better fitness instructor than any twenty four hour gym. She was still slim, though no longer lithe. She didn't have the arch of a flexible back, her fingers were a big inflamed from arthritis. A lifetime working. She married John Wilde when she was nineteen in '78, he had been twenty-four when he had taken a night class with her. It had been a different time.  
  
John Wilde had went to the bank one day, with a appointment, and smiles, and a box full of business and dreams. So hopefully that he'd get that loan. So sure he could make it work. That he wasn't going to be some factory peon the rest of his life. That his family would get out of Happytown.  
  
Lilliana took notes as Zoom questioned, he was a rock. Something that was needed here. He was a rock.  
  
"Oh Johnny...can...can I see him..." Mira asks, her voice raw, it is that day all over again. When John never came home.  
  
Lilliana would have offered a emotional token, used that to worm in more, Mira Wilde would offer anything.  
  
She didn't though, because she took notes, because Zoom was a rock, because Nick Wilde was there.  
  
The cheetah from Precinct 14 didn't know much of Bogo's flying circus of a precinct. The Chief of Police had his fingers in a lot of pies, there was scuttlebutt. But even she heard of this guy, a fox with dirt. Partnered with a bunny with dirt. There was scuttlebutt. A few big units staring down at each other and those two, making sure where they'd...fit...  
  
But that wasn't why Nick was important. No, it is because he's there with his hand on his mom's paw, and he is that little kit who never got his dad home for Christmas. Who prayed everyday for a safe return. Who wanted his daddy back, because he loved daddy, and daddy made mommy happy and mommy was unhappy now. And right now mommy needed him to be with her.  
  
A lot could be said for how the fur settled, how the ears flicked, her a tail hung, the slight bare odor of pheromones and scents. Pseudo-science and mentalism.  
  
Zoom glanced to Officer Wilde, found in Canyonlands, thirty years. There were pictures at the academy.  
  
"I...I don't think that is a good idea mom, not right now...we...we need to plan for that..." Came that smooth reassurance. A curl inward and closer.  
  
Lilliana took notes and wished, wished that they had set a appointment instead of dropping by. John Wilde's son did not need to be here. There would be words unsaid.  
  
Then came the meaty stuff. Or at least the canned meat that they'd get here and now.  
  
"John, he, he was a scab. Purr-Royace needed animals to work the line, I told that detective that he'd been getting bothered. Worked two jobs so I could go to nursing school while I maid'ed at the Chur-Regent, he went to school too...working on his business thing...I...I had to drop out...did that detective tell you about those union animals? One of them came to the house." Mira whimpered, her son kept a consistent face, he hadn't known.  
  
No mention of that supposed drug habit, or the FLF. Their captain, an old Oryx named Watcher, had filled them in on that. Fang Liberation Front, old pred power group, active in the 70s. More like a pred mafia, guns and drugs flowed back then.  
  
Though this union stuff was an angle, lots of ways for a fox to get stabbed, and for some stupid blue collar dum-dums get in over their heads. A possible story there.  
  
"The one that came to the house, can you give me a name, Mrs. Wilde?" Zoom asked, Lilliana was ready with the pen.  
  
"No. No. He...I can't remember. I think he was one of the linemen that John replaced. Said he was the Vice President or something like that." Mira can't offer much more after that.  
  
After that, it is a bunch of fluff. How John was a brave fox who served his country, how he didn't deserve to die, how did he die, the flow of information was over.

* * *

  
"So, what do you know about Wilde, Zoom?" Lilliana asked as she settled into her seat, Zoom drove.  
  
"Best shot ZPD's academy seen in a decade, heard he beat some ex-army guys on the long distance range for SWAT quals. There was that thing with the sheep back in '16." Zoom returned, he checked the mirrors.  
  
"Not what I meant." Lilliana said softly, they turned out onto the street. They'd be back in the Square soon enough.  
  
"Heard he's got some dirt, shady stuff, no different from any other Happytown cop. Rumor has it some bigwig wanted him dead or something. His partner, Hopps, she's got some real big dirt. Someone's got a pic of her talking with Fru Fru Big, paling around with her babies..." Zoom knew when you shouldn't talk. Especially when it came to one of Bogo's hand picked officers.  
  
Lilliana let it lie.  
  
That was IAB's job, not theirs.  
  
John Wilde was theirs.

* * *

  
Markus Trap. Chubby mouse working as a bank loan officer in '89, in black slacks and a short sleeve shirt and white tie. With a probably ridiculous suit at home for when he wanted to go out, with rolled up sleeves and no socks in his crampons. Eager to climb that ladder, and with understanding of what it would take.  
  
He had a office with a window. Downtown at the main office.  
  
"Mindy told me you were here about something I did in '89? I am sorry, but I am unsure how I can help you..." Markus is fake, but it is that polite fake of bankers. He doesn't seem afraid, and a mouse taking out a fox seems unlikely. In fact he seems confused. More than likely he knows nothing, and won't remember anything. But Lilliana asks.  
  
"Actually I do remember him, he had a little...I want to say...display? It was like he was a grade schooler." Markus motions for the detectives to sit, by the big door. For the big animals.  
  
It is 1989, and he was sweating his butt off in a branch in the edges of Downtown, near Happytown, but not in it. And this fox in the hand tailored suit and million dollar smile comes in with razzle dazzle. And booze on his breath. He had it laid out, some hokum shop in Happytown, a Suitopia, for Zootopia. Had all the little pictures, and it looked like his kid drew some of it. Or some one's kid at least.  
  
Markus Trap was unamused, his suit jacket folded neatly on his back table. He himself was working and did not have time for this sort of thing. Nothing said he shouldn't consider the loan, in fact in all honesty everything had been in order. The business plan was sound, he had the space, he had the downpayment, it was just...this...this excitement.  
  
"I couldn't have taken the chance, we were still in the recession and this fox was acting insane. I had to protect my branch's interest. I told him I was considering the loan, and that he should come back in a week. Never saw him after that." Markus ended his story.  
  
"According to the case officer, you rejected him." Lilliana pressed, Woolstein's notes had been clear on that.  
  
"Ah...well...I am sorry to say, but...it was a different time. That was how we dealt with...difficult animals...honestly I might have been more understanding if he came back without his...accoutrements." Markus did not apologize, nor explain, but he gave Zoom and Lilliana both a look. A urban poor pred, yeah, he was getting worked by the system. Barely had a chance.  
  
"Thank you then, Mister Trap. We will see ourselves out. If we have further questions, we will call you." Zoom packed up, Lilliana felt her blood softly boil.  
  
"Actually. I may have something more. His car, it didn't work, so he called for a tow. From a friend I think. Didn't sound like a stranger." Markus offered as the two detectives.  
  
Now that was something, something that might help a lot. How did John Wilde's car wind up in the Canyonlands, if it was broken? Also played well with how whoever left the thing they left the scene themselves...

 

* * *

  
At the Crime Lab and the Morgue...


	35. Cold Case, Lab Results and Understandings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gathering steam, learning more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Written quickly, not beta'ed, and edits are not in depth. Will continue to edit and refine if I spot problems.

Sahara Square Central Hall, home to Precinct 14 as well as the district's morgue and crime lab. The underground facility was cool, the A/C on blast and the dull white fluorescent lighting gave everything a surreal quality. Unreality. The soap opera effect. Something like that. No one that worked here, liked to be here. Away from the real windows of the upper floors, with the real light.  
  
Doctor Morrison, flicked a pen between his fingers, his nickname not unwarranted. Old x-rays of a fox's skeleton, as well as dental work hung at his back as the old VA records sat in front of him. A look of displeasure was on his face.  
  
"I can confirm cause of death as sharp penetrative trauma to the lower abdomen which resulted in significant bleeding, it was not a fast bleed. I cannot confirm a weapon, the flesh is too desiccated and too old. Was probably not a knife is all I can say, the wound is too irregular." Morrison mentioned, he flicked the pen more.  
  
"But that's not what's got you antsy." Lilliana mentioned as she took a look at the chart herself. The old body diagram, shapeless and formless, scaleless. A single x and line that showed wound directionality and depth.  
  
"No, I may be a ME, but I was a doctor before. He's got one of the worst backs I have ever seen, and his medical file says he was being treated with ibuprofen. Might as well been over the counter headache pills. Whoever made that call was making sure this animal was living in near crippling pain. One of the worst abuses of medicine I have ever seen." Morrison spat, camels hocked when their craw was up, but never Morrison and never in his lab. He swished the fluid in his mouth before swallowing, he then chewed on his pen.  
  
"He was in pain?" Lilliana asked quietly, that didn't jive. Or maybe it did. Alcohol and drugs to handle what doctors couldn't. Not the first time some poor preds weren't taken to the limit due to someone's ill will. Pseudo-science and mentalism.  
  
"Constantly. Frankly, if he were alive today, I'd be proscribing oxycodone and lidocane patches after a couple of back surgeries...and maybe a round of rehab." Morrison said as he pointed up to the x-rays. One of them new, and shiny.  
  
"So, a female might have been able to take him out?" Zoom asked, suspect the wife was still in play. Could be he didn't get the loan, and she got angry, and things escalated. A new line of thought.  
  
"A vole could have taken him out. Mouse with a pair of standard scissors. Local girl guide troop and some knitting needles." Morrison waved his hand. "This fox was a perfect victim."  
  
"He an addict?" Lilliana went back to the notes. No mention of this, Woolstein gave no indication of this. This was a curve ball.  
  
"I sent some hairs to Percy for testing, but it would not surprise me. It would have been torture for this fox to stand for more than a hour." Morrison frowned. Medicine was suppose to help people. He looked at that old VA file.  
  
It had been a different time. They said that when he was in Med School in '85, really he wondered if it would be different at all.  


* * *

  
Percy Little was a jackal, he had a common tongue name, and went to the University of Zootopia, by all accounts he should have been a relatively average animal for his age. For whatever worth of the word, at twenty-eight he was already head of one of the district's top crime scene teams. Yes, he was by all accounts should have been another animal in a suit.  
  
He wore black jeans and a black shirt, button down, and the traditional ankh around a heavy collar. A slave to the dead. Old school traditionalist markers, animals that believed they could speak with the dead, and see the weight of a soul. Not really someone who should have a job as a scientist...but Percy Little was a professional, and he could work magic.  
  
Lilliana and Zoom looked at what had been the document examination room, now a shrine to insanity by the looks of things. The hundreds of papers that John Wilde had died with and bled on now all clean and hanging from lines. Organized by line and layer, from tax and bank forms, to letters, to drawings. Lilliana took drafting in college, and aside from the crayon and marker, the lines were professional grade.  
  
There in the center of this web, lay the clump of paper that had tried to stem the flow.  
  
A hand drawn sketch, that had been inked and lined with expertise. Of a store front, of a dream. Under the childish scribbles and additions, lay the work of someone who was a artist. The cheetah felt her teeth grit, at the little addition of a little stick figure family in the corner. Or stars and fireworks.  
  
Nick Wilde had been a happy kit, and his father sharing and loving to allow for him to add to this...art.  
  
Percy Little sullenly sat in the middle like some macabre spider. He did that with the murder cases. A old respect.  
  
"So..." Zoom was the one to start.  
  
"He was not stabbed in the car, blood pattern analysis shows he was put into the trunk. I believe he was attacked outside his vehicle, and after the initial confrontation he was put into the trunk area of his 1974 Opossum Grand Traveler and left to bleed." Percy led them out, the papers were still drying. A door down was his lab and workspace. His minions, as Zoom and Lilliana knew them as, were busy with other cases, less important cases, cases where the dead did not call.  
  
The two detectives let the jackal talk.  
  
"I have found no surviving pawprints, no viable DNA sample, and no trace evidence to suggest who the driver was. Or if there was a driver, as the seat appears to be adjusted for an animal that fits John Wilde's profile. The vehicle itself is too old for me to reliably estimate the condition it was in when it was placed at the scene." Percy motioned to the table, where there were several objects.  
  
"Notable items are as following. One steel flask, with 81st Infantry Regiment insignia, unit is defunct. Content trace reveals particulate matter consistent with poorly filtered gin. One plastic pill container, containing twenty-two five hundred milligram tablets of ibuprofen. One oilskin satchel containing the following; one Joeyson and Joeyson hypodermic needle, one windproof military lighter, one steel tablespoon, and two packets of unadulterated heroin." Percy touched each one reverently, these were the grave goods of a father. It did not matter the last was taboo.  
  
"Can you tell us maker's mark?" Lilliana asked as she approached his side, the wax paper packet was fade with age, but it had been protected from the elements. A fang crossed through a circle.  
  
"No matches in current database." Percy shook his head.  
  
Lilliana sighed.  
  
It was time to ask a old timer.  


* * *

  
"This is FLF. Saw enough of this with dead junkies to know. Brutes were flooding the streets with pure uncut shit back in the mid to late 80s. Southern Cats took over in the 90s, too brutal, FLF hardliners getting too old. They were born from the 60s and 70s." Watcher educated softly, he had been a rookie back then. Full of piss and vinegar, even served with old Mwana Bogo back in the day. Which was why he watched his two best grinders with a appreciative eye.  
  
Click. He loved his gadgets, Watcher vaped and was on his phone more than his grandkids, so having a automatic door closer wasn't the worst of his little vices. It was useful when he needed to make a point. Or just keep up appearances.  
  
"Got a call today, Precinct 1 is interested in how the case is progressing." Watcher offered, it was politics.  
  
"It is progressing as can be expected. Better than one might think." Lilliana took point, Zoom didn't play politics. That was a honest if buzzwordy answer. What could you expect, when the case had been thirty years past and gone. They were getting more than what they should have hoped for.  
  
"...I will pass it along. Don't worry, there are no...unrealistic expectations." Watcher nodded, they had their forewarning. It was up to them to see things through.  



	36. Cold Case, Digging Deeper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes it is staring you in the face. The cast assembles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Written quickly, not beta'ed, and edits are not in depth. Will continue to edit and refine if I spot problems.

Professor Anita Dewlap was a wolf of distinction. One of the greed monsters of downtown, she should have been one of the greed monsters of downtown. Power suit with big shoulder pads and the ten pound car phone and battery. She could have had it all, she would have lost it all. A thirty year old fad car and pastels and little pink umbrellas and a twenty year chip.  
  
"Coke was my vice." She is more beaten, weathered, she wears a wool sweater and a loose skirt to class. She is very honest about it, her chip hangs on a collar like a tag. Along with the rest. Tick marks for a life hard lived. She still teaches at City College, back when it was community service, now it is her life. In fact she was probably the last teacher still alive who had been there that year. The last window into the school life of John Wilde.  
  
"I remember John, his wife worried about him. Thought I was a bad influence. Was still high back then, but what John wanted was in a needle, not up in a nose. She was insistent, I think...it is hard to remember a lot." She is cognizant, barely, of the era. She had been pulling fifty gees a day playing the market, sometimes more, sometimes less, a little minnow compared to the big boys and girls that lost millions in a hour...but to these Happytown refugees, she might as well been a divine god who had money like water.  
  
Most of the time at least.  
  
"He...he would have made it out. Didn't rightly have my faculties back then, but looking back, he had the gumption to make it out." Dewlap's bottled water is bottled in glass.  
  
"He was amazing, even I could see it, through the haze. He worked a full time job, took four classes, and from what I could see, he made time for his family. Wonderful artist. He would have made it out. Made it far." Dewlap seems a little too romantic, a little too connected. She points to a portrait, it is off a classroom, students' heads in the foreground, a blackboard in the back, and a wolf commanding the center.  
  
"Drew that for me."  
  
John Wilde had been talented, he had been talented indeed...and maybe his wife had been a jealous sort.  


* * *

  
Mira Wilde doesn't take kindly to their questions about her snooping into her husband's life. She clings to her saints and her priest, and her son corners Zoom and Lilliana in their unmarked car at a Jenny's with a smile and offers to pay for lunch. He pays, he jokes, he doesn't wurm himself in, because his partner is in their cruiser and she is watching.  
  
Lenzi Shrewoski is a Tundratown Lawyer with big prices, not too big, but it is definitely a splurge. Wilde hands them his card and asks them to make a appointment if they want to talk to his mother again.  
  
Lenzi Shrewoski gets bad animals off sometimes. He ain't a Corkout, or a Finestan, or a Howe and Cheetam, but he is someone in the life.  


* * *

  
Fang Liberation Front sergeant major Richard Tooley had been a big animal back in the day. A big animal, husky and weighty it was called now. He had served in Vietnam, three tours, a career soldier with the 81st regiment. He stank of the jungle and the death, of napalm. Of horror. He still wore the patches of the war on his coat, both oversea and at home. A black beret and longshoreman's coat, jean with faux-fur, almost designer that. It hung off his frame beautifully, almost tailored like from a Krubrick film.  
  
He still wears the coat, but he is older now, he no longer has the beret. He spends his days in the park, playing chess and reminiscing about the old days with the few other old timers still alive and not in jail.  
  
Richard Tooley was a rhino, and that had surprised Lilliana.  
  
"My fanged brothers were treated with disrespect and cruelty by the uncaring ceaseless grinning stupidity of the Zootopian people, especially those who came home from a hostile and bloody battleground." He still carries the flag, no matter he flooded the streets with drugs and guns, no matter animals died. Perhaps a debt was being claimed.  
  
Richard Tooley had owned a garage back in '89. A garage with a tow truck.  
  
"Well, we are not here to talk about that, we are here about John Wilde." Zoom says. They hope to get a reaction, with the pain Wilde was, he needed a lot of smack. Chances were he couldn't afford it regularly, he had to go into debt...but when a certain group heard he had ten gees, well...things happened didn't they?  
  
"Brother Wilde was sorely missed. What about him?" Richard seems to play it cool. Probably never thought this day would come.  
  
"We found him. In the Canyonlands." Zoom opens the file, shock sometimes brings a utterance. And a former FLF shotcaller like him, he would have been privy. Especially given the old unit connection.  
  
Of course it doesn't play out that way.  
  
Richard Tooley is surprised and confused, and he looks over the pictures with a hardened eye. Then he is horrified. His eyes bug, his hands grip the table, he is horrified that John Wilde is a dried out husk, staring at nothing. Then he is cold, and angry.  
  
"Johnny..." He says that with a hurt, a hurt that doesn't belong to a drug dealer talking with the cops about a dead addict. A dead Murdered addict.  
  
Then came the questions. A story comes out.  
  
Richard Tooley pulls his shirt off and reveals his back. It is covered in burns.  
  
"Johnny pulled me and three guys out from under of a burning one one three a year before full withdrawal from 'nam. Ambush by Charlie, took heavy rocket fire and molotovs. I was a dead animal, Jenkins, Rodriguez, and Smith were dead animals. That one one three flew and landed on our truck. I figured I was going to die in 'nam anyway, so I tried to lift something, do a push up...hardest pushup in the world. Get a gap so the guys could get out, but then comes John Wilde, screaming with a bag of grenades and a forty-five." Richard Tooley weeps at this.  
  
"That fucking fox somehow fucking got us out, and he's screaming, and pulling, and getting in there. He drags all of us away from that burning hell. Under fire from Charlie, and never once did he get hit, and he threw like he was Goof Goofage. He was like an angel sent down from god. He made four trips...Smith was the last, he got the worse...I...he pulled me out first. So no, I did not fucking kill John motherfucking Wilde." Richard Tooley looks ready to throw away his life on that fact, the table dents under his old fingers.  
  
"I would imagine things would be different if he had a outstanding debt, FLF weren't known for their understanding." Lilliana pushes that little needle, deep.  
  
He's hurting, he's angry, he will speak his heart.  
  
"Because I made it clear he was protected. Because I made it clear his family was protected. Because I made it clear John Wilde didn't have to pay. He wasn't no regular dope fiend. Fucking paper liaisons made sure he didn't get his silver star, also fucking made sure he didn't get the right pills. Fucking bastard couldn't pay me or my men if he tried, best he could do was make us some jackets." Richard Tooley is angry.  
  
Chances are he didn't kill Wilde...but what about his men?  


* * *

  
Paper Liaison, old government buzzword. Meant the fake name a guy would use to downgrade a soldier's merits and needs.  
  
From making sure they didn't get the medals they deserved, or a second opinion that they didn't need a expensive surgery or medication.  
  
If they weren't "fit" for it, they didn't get it.  
  
Lilliana feels lucky that she was born into an age of smart phones and 90s cartoons.  


* * *

  
Cassandra, just Cassandra, was once Cassie Yuca, coyote from Happytown. Word from Richard was John Wilde had been thick as thieves with her the summer of '89. She was a plain girl in a black turtle neck and black skirt, austere and dressed in black to avoid gang associations. She had been a freshman at City College, in art design with John Wilde. They worked on a project together.  
  
Lilliana frowned at her. Still in a black turtle neck and skirt, but now outrageous in manner and demands.  
  
Cassandra had her own label you see. She designed for fashion models, and the like. The rich and the snooty. The shallow. Thin speaks who made more in a hour than Lilliana did in a year, and were dying by inches.  
  
It was a shame then that all the fashion mags were calling this coyote a has been. Thin little pocketbooks, thin ties and suits, "rugged" jackets. Retreads. Hipster wear.  
  
They don't get much from her, but John Wilde's last days are getting into focus.  
  
It was becoming increasingly clear that he had disappeared within twenty-four hours of leaving that bank.

* * *

  
A patrol officer is taking pictures of their murder board.  
  
He leaves and is on shift before anyone can stop him. There would be hell to pay, but whoever he sends those pictures to will get them.  
  
Lilliana sits quietly as Zoom talks with their captain, and the watch sergeant. Who was that guy and why did he take pictures of their murder board.  
  
It is Wilde, or maybe his partner, or maybe Bogo himself. That was not really her concern.  
  
John Wilde had needed a tow from Trap's bank, which he got from Tooley. Who admitted to giving him a clean needle and a kit before dropping him off at school.  
  
Which in turn led to a night of classes with Dewlap and Yuca, and young Mrs. Wilde making a appearance about Dewlap.  
  
Tooley than delivered the car, fixed, and John made promises to payment in the presence of Yuca, who than claims that he walked off to see someone...  


* * *

  
"Of course I did not tell you that he returned that night." Trap frowned in the interrogation room.  
  
"Why is that?" Zoom asked unamused.  
  
"Because I did not want anyone in my office to hear that I was going to accept...favors...from a ghetto trash fox." Trap is indignant, sweating.  
  
"What sort of favors?" Zoom pressed.  
  
"He told me he could make me popular, help me climb the ladder..." Trap looked like he was pulling teeth.  
  
"How so? Be specific..." Zoom smells blood.  
  
"Drugs. He offered me a drug connection. It was the twilight of the 80s, such a thing would have been useful for a animal looking to make a name in the financial world." Trap's lawyer and him were going to have a long night.  
  
Richard Tooley is back in the box faster than you can blink.  


* * *

  
Of course that doesn't make sense. That was a good thing, John was bringing in business for Tooley, even if it was not in his name. It was a disrespect sure, but a in to the white halls of down town? That would have been great...  
  
Lilliana Charger stares at the board, she is missing something. This is not a right angle.  
  
She is missing something. Percy brought in the papers, a choice selection. All related to persons of interest.  
  
Mira Wilde, the troubled wife. Pictures of their, no, his dream.  
  
Markus Trap, the racist banker. The right forms, filled out right.  
  
Anita Dewlap, the coked up teacher. The character letter.  
  
Richard Tooley, the drug dealer. The pouch of heroin.  
  
She was missing something. The story was feasible, but it wasn't correct, the evidence too far gone.  
  
They all had moved on with their lives...grown past his death...never known...there was something on the tip of her tongue, at the edge of her understanding.  
  
What was she missing? She stared at John Wilde's Suitopia.

 


	37. Cold Case, The Climax

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It breaks, when you lucky it breaks, and you will find the truth. Perhaps you will also find justice. Perhaps you will find something worth seeing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Written quickly, not beta'ed, and edits are not in depth. Will continue to edit and refine if I spot problems.
> 
> Will probably write an alternate take on this later, flesh out some things.

Lilliana ran, she was a cheetah and she ran. A bit stereotypical she knew. Parking garage in the Fashion District, ten stories tall, and twenty dollars a hour.  
  
Elevator was too slow. So she ran. Her heart pounded, her tongue lolled, her joints ached, and she ran. Her fingers clawing at the steps as he toes barely found purchase on the stairs.  
  
Out of breath, out of time. She felt the cold asphalt against he face as she forced her self to take breath, to calm her beating heart. Her hand checking the revolver at her side.  
  
The van sat ahead. It's rear doors ever so slightly ajar.  
  
Nick Wilde, best shot the academy ever seen in ten years, posting to Precinct 1 SWAT while in Bogo's patrol unit.  
  
Cassie Yuca had no exits. Her partner combing the fashion show for her, she needed to shelter in place, get inside. A open air pavilion on the rooftop club of the Hotel Regency.  
  
"Don't do it Wilde!" Lilliana screamed as she rushed to throw open the doors.  
  
"Who the fuck is Wilde?!" Came the indignant response. A fennec fox glared up at her, a blanket wrapped around him and a white artic vixen who promptly demurred and hid herself under the cover.  
  
Lilliana blushed.  
  
So perhaps the idea that Wilde's son was seeking revenge due to a suspicious phone call was unwarranted.  


* * *

  
Fennick's van had many incarnations, this one could pass a smog check. Judy respected the seats and mirrors as she looked back into the rear. Her partner was sullen and silent, a golf bag in his paws. He wrapped himself around it like one of those foreign hug pillows. It was his lifeline.  
  
The old gator rifle he had obtained from somewhere was in it, hidden by a club sock. Old and untraceable. A unreliable weapon...Nick would have made it work.  
  
"I'm sorry." Judy offered the condolence. It was not hers to give, not hers to pry, she had no right to take this from him...  
  
She had every right to take it from him.  
  
Nick stayed silent, his teeth clenched down on the chain of his Saint Marion medallion. He hadn't bit a chain or wore when since he was a kit...he knew the Truth now.  
  
And such a horrible truth it was.  
  
No one would ever know that he was there, and only Lilliana Charger would ever suspect.  


* * *

  
There was a big pitcher of water in the interrogation room. It was bigger than Zoom's torso. A elephant sized pitcher.  
  
It was the only other thing in the room, besides the suspect. Who fidgeted and boiled. She was a creator, a gift to the stars...what right did some rabble rousing police think they could use to keep her here!  
  
Why her lawyer and her money would make it all go away. She would dig in with shrill demands and artier words.  
  
Cassandra, aka Cassie Yuca, had forgotten this day could come...or had she?  
  
Lilliana trundled into the room, her fur matted and her flesh feverish. The coyote making noise only drew a finger raised in annoyance as she sat down...and than promptly downed the entire pitcher without a cup.  
  
There would be a story.  


* * *

  
John Wilde smiled a shaky smile. He had leveraged everything. This would be his ultimate risk. It was not war. It was not love. It was this.  
  
The ticket out of Happytown, for him and Mira and little Nicky.  
  
"John! You...you don't have to do this." Cassie called out from the dark. She padded up, nice girl, a bit too high strung.  
  
"What are you doing here Cass, listen, I am, urm busy, I know we have a project-"  
  
"It's not about the project! John, you're throwing your life away! Don't become another drug dealer!" Cassie begged, he needed to think of his wife and child.  
  
"Listen, Cass, just, just leave okay. Go. Go. You don't need to be here! I have this well under control." John frowned. HIs fur itched, Richie would be angry at him, but he'd forgive. This would be his only lapse. They'd be square!  
  
"Like you are controlling your addiction!? Your associations! You have a family John! Think of them!" Cassie retorted, she grabbed his shoulder.  
  
"I am thinking about them!" John pushed her, his back tinged, his teeth grimaced. Cass fell. His eyes widened. Why did he do that?  
  
"Shit. I'm sorr-" John reached down to help her up. He felt a cool sensation in his belly, he looked down to see a pair of fabric sheers in his stomach.  
  
Oh.  


* * *

  
"My brother still lived in the shack my dad built before he and mom split. It was near the park. I could hike there without a problem...I...I killed John...and I panicked...so...so I left him at the park...I thought someone would find him. It was...it was a popular camping spot..." Cassandra dipped her chin, she was defensive.  
  
But she told.  
  
It wasn't the whole story.  
  
"I am afraid that is not the whole truth, is it..." Lilliana opened up the fashion mag she had one of the patrol officers pick up. She picked up the pocketbook that Mira Wilde still clung too. She compared the two. Thirty years and more and they were identical.  
  
"John Wilde's business plan included his idea book. His designs. His patterns. A book we did not find amongst his belongings...a book we have been told was identifiably his. My partner is executing a search warrant upon your home. I am sure we will find it..."  
  
"...John gave me that book...long before that night..." Cassie Yuca offered with fear. She bit her dewlap.  
  
"Good luck convincing a jury, especially when it comes out you left him to die alone out there...or didn't you think?" Lilliana felt a rush, finding her prey and confirming its capture.  
  
Cassie was a shocked little college girl, working to get out of the ghetto. She was shocked and afraid.  
  
It was a good enough end as any...


	38. Classification, Local Assets(Delta Green)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When someone you trusts asks, how much are you willing to give?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Written quickly, not beta'ed, and edits are not in depth. Will continue to edit and refine if I spot problems.

Judy Hopps stared at her detective's badge, her ears twitching at the sound of rain and Nick's soft breathing. He slept so soundly, it was such a talent of his. She wished she shared it some times, it would help with her fatigue. She could never sleep well out in the field, cramped and cooped up on the clock. Instead thoughts filled her head. They zipped around like errant bolts of lightening.  
  
It was definitely not helpful.  
  
She was going to get her five year stripe in a week, if she were a patrol officer still, her sleeves would have been adorned with the golden marker. Instead she would sew them on her dress blues, like she would with her ten and fifteen year markers, and her twenty and twenty five year markers. Stripes upon her sleeves.  
  
What was she doing here? In a evidence impounded mini-van, her partner in tow, on the words of her old SWAT team captain. Old Snowstorm had asked her, pleaded with her, begged her to not ask questions. He had given her a look, the same look that he had when he stacked up with her countless times. He had not ask for Nick, but he was her partner, and he would have smelled this off the books op.  
  
She needed him...he was the only one she could truly trust.  
  
Especially given what has happened so far.  
  
The meet in that airport hotel room, and the insanity that was this task..  
  
She could smell the gasoline from all the cans in the back.  
  
...Judy Hopps swallowed hard.  
  
She looked up, and with dread she saw the beater sedan Snowstorm had left in, with the Fed and the two Staties.  
  
There was a bullet hole in the windshield. They flashed the high beams.  
  
Twice...Twice...  
  
According to plan. Judy opened the door, they would need her to burn the car...she felt her toes wiggle in the cool mud and her fur bristle under the rain.  
  
Thrice.  
  
Open fire immediately.  
  
Judy's eyes widen. She reached for the old carbine, also from evidence lockup, she could hear herself call for Nick...but she didn't really.  
  
Her brain was running too fast. She shouldered the weapon.  
  
She took a breath.  
  
Her finger could not pull the trigger.  
  
She never froze before, but she froze now, and that...when all this was said and done...that would be her biggest regret.  
  
Because she was able to make something out from behind those cracks.  
  
"JUUUUUUDDDDYYYYY!"  
  
**BAMBAMBAMBAMBAMBAMBAM!**


	39. Induction(Delta Green)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Regret the choices that brought you here, it is no longer giving, it is taking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Written quickly, not beta'ed, and edits are not in depth. Will continue to edit and refine if I spot problems.

Judy hits her temples, she growls and groans and gnaws on a snack stick because her stomach is empty and her teeth need it.  
  
The abandoned gas station she found, and scoped out, and set as the meet point was getting claustrophobic.  
  
She is trying so hard to get herself together, Snowstorm is dead! DEAD! Or is he? What the fuck!? Of course he is dead. She gnaws on her minty snack stick.  
  
She's in a old track suit, dark navy, it would blend into the night if she had to run, though she had to clench a weight belt to tuck her drop gun by her side. Her ZPD sidearm is well and safe in her house safe.  
  
The ski mask on her head is itchy.  
  
They were going to be there soon...what the fuck she was doing here? She kicks the old ice cream cooler, she's filled it with old jerry cans full of water. It would have to do as a improvised cover.  
  
The rear door she slammed a lot of wheels around. The employee bathroom window was barred, but she wrenched a space between, she'd be able to squeeze through.  
  
Nick was laying under a tarp two hundred meters away, under a rusted out dumpster.  
  
He had her back. There was a plan.  
  
If things went south, she'd get out the bathroom window while Nick covered her. She'd probably have to spry some fire.  
  
Shit, shit, shit. This was some late night Lost Oaks-Disappearance-Secret Files-Triplet Cliffs bullshit.  
  
Her ear perks, she pulls down her mask. A heavy gauge SUV is driving up, the suspension is burdened. She sees it soon, the headlights are off.  
  
The lights flash. They're here.  
  
Swpt.  
  
She feels a familiar hot sting in her shoulder blade, she reaches back numbly as she turns around.  
  
Some lithe mammal in full tac gear, a few inches taller than her, gas mask with a Asp Model 22 in paw.  
  
The feathered dart drops from Judy's paw.  
  
Oh.  
  
Yeah. Really, what the shit was she doing?  
  
Judy screams as she charges, feral and uncaring. Her mind drifts as she vaguely hears a gunshot in the distance.  
  
ZPD makes you take three darts and makes you fight it, if you can't last two minutes, you don't get to carry a M22.  
  
What was she doing?  
  
The world dissolves into a whine.  
  
Detective Judy Hopps feels her heart jump, she feels a cold table under her cheek, she sits up and her eyes burn in the bright white light.  
  
A hare sits in front of her, grim faced and tired, her suit is a Barnarni, tailored. His paws are in his lap, that worries her so much.  
  
Just as much as her chained paws.  
  
"I believe we have much to discuss. Apologies for the extraordinary rendition Miss. Hopps." The hare nods slowly, he crosses his legs.  
  
"My name is Jack Savage, I will be your handler from now on. Please, have a drink." He places a bottle of water in front of her.


	40. Agents(Delta Green)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How do you cope? Sometimes all you can do is not gaze into a mirror.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Written quickly, not beta'ed, and edits are not in depth. Will continue to edit and refine if I spot problems.

Nick Wilde doesn't think too much about the night it all started. It had been cold and uncomfortable, and he talked with his $400 dollar therapist about it. Which was probably going to be against the program, but they recommended her. She was probably going to be replaced soon. Nick liked Alice, she was nice, but she was going to trip up soon...and Savage...would be savage.  
  
He mechanically checked his silk tie, it was a clip on, its tines could be used as a torsion wrench for security deadbolts. In its proper place. Like the deadbolts on his doors and windows.  
  
Five more years on, and he was taking his Lieutenant's exam at the end of the year. He tucked his drop piece under his tail, and his spare on his ankle. The other had a trick knife, it's handle a small bottle of OC spray.  
  
He no longer worked Major Crimes, Judy was poised to take the unit for herself when Captain Rydor retired, no he was a part of Special Branch, he had done training at Lake Groom and trained under the BOI's profiler and negotiator teams. He was a free agent to be assigned as needed, though his frequent fliers were HRT, Major Crimes, and various specific task forces. It had been easy enough, he had already been mostly there, they just taught him the names for the things he already knew.  
  
It was painful, but it did have its perks.  
  
"You know, you can wear a real tie nowadays." Judy mentioned from behind him, her arms reaching up and over his shoulders. Nick smiled.  
  
"New habits die hard Carrots." Nick smiled, she made a curious noise at that.  
  
It was so hard trying not to think about things. Like that cold day five years ago, the fight he had with his mother the other week after the estate inspection, the crack in the wall next to the mirror and the sore ribs both he and Judy had. She reached past him for her own drop piece, a nice fake pearl handled thirty-two with gaffe tape on its grip and trigger.  
  
"They're old enough to be in grade school by now, Slick." She retorted.  
  
The Program did not ask, they did not care, the ZPD allowed it only because they were no longer in the same unit.  
  
Nick smiled, strained, he did not press further. It would have been stressful, instead he kissed his wife, his partner and led her to the car.  
  
Paw in paw.  
  
He paused to check the scout rifle in the trunk, locked into brackets, and Judy's carbine. His kitbag and hers ready.  
  
Nick tried not to think about it, and with that they headed towards Precinct 1.


	41. Equilibrium

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Equilibrium: A state in which opposing forces or influences are balanced.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Written quickly, not beta'ed, and edits are not in depth. Will continue to edit and refine if I spot problems.
> 
> A/N: This is something more along the lines of my first snippet about Clawhauser, really talky, really conversationy. Trying to build a world in a narrative way. Though yeah, spent too long writing it.

It was in 2018 when Judy Hopps got a thickly taped envelope in her PO Box, she at first thought it was a mistake. Or perhaps a bomb. There had been no post stamp, no void stamp, it was rumpled and had a layer of packing tape around the middle. By all accounts she should have locked the PO Box door and called it in. Suspicious package in a cop's mailbox. So many bad things there...  
  
But the small smiley star sticker she recognized, she had given it to Fru Fru and Judy just the other week. That meant something. Though she didn't realize it at the moment.  
  
It didn't hit her as she got back to her apartment, still nestled between the stairs and her oh so lovable neighbors. She didn't think about it, she didn't react, she tucked it under her arm with her bills and her magazines from Blue Week, Mammals, and Tactical Life. Oh, there was a new tranq carbine on the market, perhaps her SWAT armory officer could get a sample.  
  
Officer Judy Hopps didn't think about it, as she walked the three blocks to her apartment, through the rain, and the snow, and she noted that no one had tailed her and there was no obvious surveillance on her box and route.  
  
No, really she didn't think about it too hard, as she double gloved with plans on throwing both sets into her building's incinerator. Her plan folding knife she slid into the side.  
  
The first thing to fall out was a simple flip phone, probably two years old. Its number scrawled on masking tape on its spine. There was one phone number in its library, and one text already on it.  
  
'When will ZTTA shut Jam Cams off for maintence in grid A12? Answer needed in a week. -K'  
  
K for Koslov, the big bear and Mister Big's chief of security, a capodecina in his inner circle. Nick knew him, just as he knew Raymond and Kevin. They were Big's personal enforcers, his primary crew in charge of his comfort zone. The compound and its environs.  
  
Academically she knew this day would come, that Mister Big would come for his due. It was only a curtsy that he waited so long, for her fame to die, and her roots to grow into the ZPD...for animals to forget. Duke Weaselton was still hiding out in Boca, running his bootleg DVDs too the tourists according to Nick. It was all very clinical. Even as the rubber banded roll of twenties, non-sequential and all used to hell fell out after.  
  
Yes, it was all very clinical, Mister Big didn't need her for this information, Koslov neither. They were deeply rooted in the Rodentia community, and the unions there of, there were dozens of other mammals that had that info. That were better positioned to get that info unnoticed.  
  
Emotionally, she held back her tears. Did Fru Fru give her daddy the sticker? Did she think that her honor, her integrity was worth only a couple of thousand dollars? She knew it was worth Duke Weaselton's fear, worth stopping the city's hate and fear...  
  
She shoved everything into a evidence baggy, and she shoved that under a loose floorboard. She'd need to find something better later.  
  
It was easy enough for her to get that info, it was buried in one of the daily memos for patrol officers...she was going to be taking her detective exam with Nick that fall. When they climbed into their heavy duty cruiser, she didn't tell him about the offer.  
  
Judy's mind was a swirl, had he gotten one too? He had been connected deep within the underworld, a mid-level freelancer, someone who had graduated out of the streets and was known to the bosses. She knew he was still connected here and there, he had gotten Flash off with a traffic citation and traffic school, there had been no evidence to connect him to the street racing scene, favors owed and due. Relationships nurtured. Finnick he had set up as a vendor to a vendor for the business ventures Nick had talked her and Ben into.  
  
Was it wrong for her to think, that yes, Nick got a phone. That he was telling, because Big probably forgave but never forgot. That he still supplemented his income...  
  
The week ticked down, she let herself go hungry. Nick, oh sweet friendly rock Nick, he noticed. He still had the street in him, and he had found the phone.  
  
There was no judgement, no hypocrisy, he had cleaned his act some and lost things for it. Started paying taxes, let some ties fall loose...but his paw still dipped into that dirty pool. There had been lesser excitement for the fox that had saved Zootopia with the first rabbit officer. There had been nearly no news media at her graduation, no mayor to speak for him, nearly a year gone from the event. The eyes of the world were subdued on him...and he knew it was not the same for her.  
  
Judy clung to him, that night, two days from the deadline. And he was there, her best friend, her rock, the mammal that completed her...perhaps even more than ever.  
  
"You can survive this Carrots, there are outs-"  
  
What Nick offered, she could not stomach. This hurt, sure, but trying to spin this? Trying to halt this? There were no recordings, no proof in that room. You didn't get to be a mob boss by recording crimes, Weaselton himself was unreliable, no one would believe a Don's soldiers. She could just cut ties, withdrawal, it would stain her for a few years, it might draw Big's ire, it might mean war and blood, but she could cling to the straight and narrow. It would mean leaving Fru Fru and Judy to the life...though, Judy's mother was already steeped in it...she loved that little bundle of fur, she was her namesake...it would mean Nick would no longer be family...  
  
It was the lawful thing to do...it was definitely one of the right things to do...but was it what she should do?  
  
It was one day before the deadline, when Nick joined her on a run in the park. Park day she and Fru Fru called it, the tiny shrew not under heavy surveillance like her father. She was a socialite, a tabloid queen who lived cleanly, the ZPD would find no leverage on her and her parties, and she was slowing down in motherhood. Becoming uninteresting.  
  
Her father never used her as tax shelter, he had found her a husband outside the life, in a sense she was living apart of her family's legacy and reputation.  
  
Nick carried a drop gun, tucked under his tail. His track pants tied tight and his ZPD tee a size too big. Judy never thought to maintain her wardrobe for this sort of thing, all tight lycra and spandex and tight sports shirts.  
  
It was the first time such a peaceful happy time was so tainted for her, Judy felt her insides twist, she had Nick bring a unregistered gun to what amounted to a playdate. She was there to coo at a baby, and give stickers, and dish about which mammal she was rooting for in the night's Zootopia's Got Talent.  
  
Fru Fru was surprisingly understanding. Especially when Judy gave her the roll of cash and they called Koslov together. She didn't need it. What she needed to know, was why they wanted to know when those cameras were down.  
  
Koslov didn't answer, Fru Fru swore there was no recording, and there was none. The old carrot pen was safely at home. Cigarettes, it was just about some cigarettes. Tax Fraud again it seemed. How nostalgic. Nick cocked his head, and than nodded. It checked out, seemed to fit, ot at least that was what he gave her.  
  
He wanted to know what her price was, how much more it would take. He sounded her out like some common dirty cop who wanted nothing more than cash for expensive bobbles.  
  
"Where is Oscar Swiner?" Judy asked, Fru Fru didn't know, simple enough. Oscar Swiner was a nobody, a little pissant street thug that had a problem with illegal steroids and rage. He worked the edges of Tundra Town and Downtown.  
  
He had beaten a seventy one year old heifer into the ICU when she didn't let go over her purse, the old cow no match for a hog in his prime and probably a couple hundred dollars worth of testosterone and growth hormone in his veins.  
  
The ZPD had a bolo out on him, but he was not a priority target like the Pink Panther gang, who's old movie star masks were taunting the Major Crimes unit.  
  
Just another mugger who went too far, a dime a dozen, but Judy Hopps had been the officer on scene. She, Nick, and EMTs from FDZ found that poor old lady in a pool of blood and filth and broken bones in a dirty subway stairwell.  
  
Wheel chair for the rest of a short life. Nick's more connected contacts too distanced to be any help, but he had offered to get stuck in. For her...and she had told him no, because she didn't want him to endanger himself...she told him he could put in a transfer request, to cut ties with her just like he had with the other poisonous animals in his life.  
  
Nick got that drop gun a hour after she told him talk, and he was with her in the park without a word.  
  
It took Koslov a hour to find out, and the Judys cooed and awed at each other. Nick had gone and gotten some ice cream for Fru Fru and himself.  
  
"I'm sorry Nick...and I hope she is too..." Fru Fru Gino nee Big offered to him.  
  
"Nothing to be sorry for." Nick returned with a soft tired smirk.  
  
The cameras would be down for two days next month, enough times for a few delivery runs.  
  
Judy Hopps was not for sale, she was for barter, and there were policies and understandings attached.  
  
This she tried to accept, it was too easy to rationalize...but...with Nick...things were worth holding on tight.  
  
That fall, she and him made detective grade 3 without trouble. Without word or rumor.  
  
There was nothing connecting the rabbit and fox to anything too unseemly, too illegal, too dirty. The fox had a past, sure, but so did a lot of other cops that came from the inner city...so did a lot of the high up brass...She knew a mobster's daughter because she had saved her life, it was all coincidence, six degrees of Kevin Hogin. Solid police, earnest and hard working, grinders. The fox was as fine a box animal as any, with the rabbit playing the hardass they were good at sealing the deal. They would go far. They got work done. A set of unique skills. Picture perfect, perhaps one of those two would be the new chief in thirty years, no doubt a movie deal when they were old and gray...or perhaps when they were still young.  
  
It 2019, winter. Nick saw it first, when Judy was out getting takeout. A little dinner together at his home, his den, a little place he owned outright that was a little empty. A breaking news report, kidnapping, of local businessman and real estate mogul Anthony V. Big's grandchildren. His daughter trampled underfoot, with a tube down her throat and bones all to pieces. Their home crushed under some careless feet. Nick stayed silent, and shut off the news. He had cleaning to do, he put his favorite mug away, unplugged the lamp his mother had given him. The knife block he'd put under the sink...He was in his basement, unlocking a hidden safe when Judy returned.  
  
Two drop guns, just in case, and a plant gun...rodent sized. That little dusty phone sat there atop a simple incendiary bomb, and it would ring in a day no doubt...  
  
Judy Hopps was a complicated animal of emotion and logic, all tied up in her little head, and in the years that Nick had grown to know her, he knew her well. Nick Wilde sat stony faced with lamp in lap as she destroyed his living room set. She broke his coffee table in half with a single stomping kick.  
  
The call did come the day after, a quiet Koslov telling them there was no limit to what could be asked for. That there be a happy ending, a happy ending where there was none to be had. Judy promised Koslov that she would try.  
  
"I am a trier you see..." Her voice cold and dead and distant. Nick did not know this part of her. It was easy enough to get on the taskforce, they were working Robbery-Anicide and there were expectations one of the big units would snatch them up as soon as they made grade 2. It was a circus, with too many moving parts, and too many interdepartmental rivalries, and that was before the feds got involved. The Bureau of Investigation sent a Crisis team, with hopes that they'd land a big fish in the old mobster, though there were understandings there. Bogo was old school, and so was the SAC deer they sent. There were understandings and expectations.  
  
It was in this heap of confusion that Judy worked her magic, if she had been born a canid, they would have called her tenacious. Lockjaw. She would not let go. Nick, he was useful in other places, seedier places. Among working girls, with lifted tails and habits, gamblers who feared their bookies, barmen who knew there was no such thing as bartender drinker privilege.  
  
Standing on a knife edge.  
  
Elmer Grey, simple name, more fit for a office worker than a mad wolf from down south. A retirement job, for a cartel freelancer that left bodies burnt to ash in the middle of tires. He and his pack were bad animals, who did bad things, and the world would be better off when they were serving time. Either in super max or a grave...It was too easy to get distracted by the obvious, by the shiny target, but Bellweather taught Judy Hopps to look layers deeper. That there were things to be seen in the edgers, that these things were broader and more linked than one could imagine.  
  
Elmer Grey was just some hired gun, quiet literally in fact. His case history, up until he fled north was that of a mercenary. You paid and pointed him, fired and forgot. There was nothing personal tying him to Big, no connection between the shrew who's interested were here in Zootopia and further north.  
  
And it was easy enough to find the weaknesses. Grey's weakest lackey was a sex fiend, he had eclectic tastes involving whips and chains and prey. It was easy enough for Nick to find him, alone, bound up, his little sheep walking out the door.  
  
It was easy enough for Judy to give Koslov a unfamiliar name that she did not care about, and even go so far as to get the animal, bundle him up for a pained don. Even as Nick offered the ZPD and BOI the hideout and a new state's witness on a platter.  
  
A end game was near.  
  
After that, it was a matter of making sure everything fell into place. That the SWAT teams were relied up on pictures of dead animals, burnt to a crisp and piles of drugs and guns. That no matter what, everyone was going home to their families. That this would be a full press, all qualified officers on site. Nick and Judy back in heavy vests. Objective was to secure the children, they were the smallest of the ZPD's on site officers, they would be able to charge forward, secure the children and protect them as attention was drawn on big tough mammals with big deadly guns.  
  
Judy Gino found her namesake, found her new dream career. A clean career away from his grandfather, who never let his life touch them...until today. A child who's hero godmother saved the day, she and her siblings would go home.  
  
No blood, no suffering, no exploitation.  
  
Judy Hopps asked that as her price, legitimacy and redemption would never be in reach for Mister Big, his sons, or his Capos. There would always be a criminal, making the world a darker place, but perhaps...perhaps it did not need to be so painful. No animal trafficking, no slaves, no death and torture. A sort of cleanliness. A fake sort of honor. It would have to be enough. For Fru Fru. He needed to be able to leave something for Fru Fru and her children, her goddaughter who wanted to be a cop, and didn't know...there was no price Big was unwilling to pay.  
  
There were promotions, commendations, and medals all around. The BOI would have a need for a such capable law enforcement officers. They could use them. Judy would learn, that they were not totally unaware, and were willing to use her up. A offering for a undercover assignment, more things to grow her career. She needed to leave Zootopia for a while.  
  
It was...hard.  
  
Exhilarating.  
  
The BOI was not the only one that needed her.  
  
She had to do Time, she learned more of the shadow in her heart. The part of her that could give Kovlov a scared frightened rat with nary a care...  
  
2021, Nick was waiting for her. She did not deserve him, but he was waiting for her. Five years since he met her, and still everything seemed so bright with him. Courses and qualifications from the BOI, they didn't need him to risk their operations with the rabbit.  
  
His home was her home.  
  
Hopps, Detective Grade 1, Wilde, Detective-Sergeant. He had been promoted ahead of her, how exciting. It was amusing for the time. Two golden detectives, with solid reps and good percentages. In different units now.  
  
That Christmas, Wilde took his mother and the two of them helped Judy go home. To Bunny Burrow and the family she left behind, who did not know where their daughter, their sister, their aunt had left. Eighteen months in hell.  
  
The phone didn't come into things much, Fru Fru needed a cane for park day. Judy Gino was so excited that her hero was back.  
  
Judy Hopps and Nick Wilde found tracks that would become well worn. Her plan contracting, she would change the world the best she could, she was no messiah that could save it. Only make it a little better as best she could.  
  
Equilibrium her tenth grade science teacher called it, equal balance between opposing forces. Was this what she thought, when she first dreamed to become a police officer...?


	42. Merrymaker Actual

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Coming this summer, to a theater near you, Green Light Over Zootopia.

Merrymaker Actual.

*Trailer cut, Zootopia Skyline*

Unseen Voice: How far are you willing to go?

*Cut to a table of guns, pan up ending on a large antimaterial rifle*

Bogo: I know, but I will not send my officers into a meat grinder!

*Cut to officers pinned down in front of large bank steps, taking full auto fire*

Judy: Not a single fatality? How is this possible?

*Judy is walking through what looks like a scene of traffic, bullet holes everywhere*

Clawhauser: Shots fired, shots fired, all units respond to sniper attack at Grand Central! VIP down!

*Bogo is staring at something off screen, you can see a sheet covered body behind him, camera pans around to a skyscraper in the distance*

Nick: We're digging deep here Carrots. Deeper than deep. This isn't some crazed sheep we got here...

*Nick is looking at a laptop, a shadow behind him, big and silent*

*Cut to Nick clawing at a giant gloved paw around his neck as Judy stabs a pen into the forearm*

Unseen voice: How far are you willing to go?

A female voice: As far as you will take me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: This is basically an idea where Disney's Robin Hood is now a burned spec ops officer, who along with his sergeant John Little and the surviving remnant of Taskforce Merrymaker, have been backed into a corner. They know they will never get their lives back, and have decided to strike back as Nick and Judy do their best to stop them. Even though they know, deep down, what they are doing is totally justified...but super illegal. Nick is reluctant to get involved due to knowing more about the shady background of what's involved, probably involving a megacorp and political conspiracy. Judy is torn between doing her duty, and turning a blind eye to what she sees as necessary work.
> 
> Maid Marian is now a high powered lobbyst/lawyer/corporate type that is Robin's insider to the conspiracy. Senator John Lionheart and his brother General Richard Lionheart are mere tools and patsies, that burned or could not help Taskforce Merrymaker. Friar Tuck is a missionary/spy that extracted himself. Alan-A-Dale is the embedded journalist and now blogger who is willing to fight the good fight. The Mother Rabbit's brood are refugees who remember Robin and his men.
> 
> It's some form of Heist Thriller Drama that probably doesn't do as well as the film studio thought it would. It's sequel will no doubt either be horrible


	43. Neighbors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here is a snippet about Nick profiling his neighbors...and one profiling him back.

Nick Wilde was many things. His rank was Police Officer I, he was a member of Precinct 1 Anti-Crime Patrol, he was a Red Fox. He enjoyed the juvenile side of life. Frozen treats and gummy chewy candies. He loved blueberries and strawberries and all sorts of pop in your mouth fruity delights. He loved his flowery tropical shirts, and his silk ties(oh how he had a weakness for new ties). He had survived the mean streets of Zootopia for all his natural life. He was many things, and he liked to think of himself as masculine among them.

After all, not many animals could say they had ten above their weight class fights under their belts. Like real life and death struggles, no holds bar, both parties are getting bloodied fights. True, he did not match his partner's more impressive record, but she was a freak and it didn't count. Took out two rhinos by herself in a dark alley after being pepper sprayed. She really was too into that sort of thing. In any case, he liked to think of himself as being masculine. A strong reynard with strong paws, even if they were nice and soft and smooth due to lotion and conditioner...a renyard has needs...

Though perhaps it was due to that, and his silk ties, and his nice fur conditioner, and his preference for word play and emotional manipulation that rendered him in this unenviable position just two weeks after he had moved into a nice condo on the outskirts of the Meadowlands. It was a little cul-de-sac, with "pleasant" and "normal" families. He had the sums of the neighborhood after his first dinner here.

He lived at the rough three o'clock position of the block, and had six other homes neighboring his own. With one being empty, the one he thankfully did not choose...or should he have chosen it? Perhaps then he would not have such a exposed angle on this problem...The Andys, two life-bro BFF programmers who were in denial lived to his right at one o'clock. The minks really were living up to the soap operatic tradition. To his left at four o'clock was Pastor Amos and his wife, their kids were filled with nuts, they needed a divorce, and they were all pretending to be one happy functional family. Their eldest really needed to stop with the big-rexia...he had plans for that actually. His partner rubbing off too much on him.

At twelve o'clock you had old lady Gertrude, she was the busybody. Well, not really, she tried to be, but she seemed more interested in just being a voyeur. Definitely was keeping written notes about the block. Nick had several contingencies in place for surveillance, so it was a non-issue. Really she probably needed to get some cable or Web-flicks.

Moving on from the nosy old lady, you had the traditional squirrels, white color newly married couple. John and Jane and oh so playing to type. Like the ADL would be on them if they were TV characters. Going to be getting on that twenty year plan to secure their future kids college funds, and have a vested 401K and supplementary income and investments for retirement in fifty years. Nick was still unsure whether or not it was a bondage dungeon or a grow op that was in their basement, but they definitely were into the freaky deeky.

Finally you had Him. The white tiger who lived in house across the way. Old and gray with that pitch black classic town car in his garage, living here for god knows how long. A bag of concrete, chains, padlock, and a big metal tub was displayed without regard or obvious purpose by that big black town car...He was always sitting on his porch with a bucket of beers and smoked fish when he wasn't doing incredibly masculine things in his front yard. Like chopping wood bare chested with a ten pound axe, or lifting incredibly heavy things like a giant ass anvil or some sort of clay crucible, or using said wood to fire up said crucible, where in he literally forges things out of molten steel like some pagan god.

Add in the killing intent of a crazy tropical cat who you know won't think twice about using a animal's head as a pawball and it made things oh so much better. 

Nick was torn as he sipped his own pink iced tea with a shot of rum. He couldn't not sit on his porch, with his little packet of farm fresh berries and look back. Watch back.

It was a unspoken challenge now...Nick wondered if it was because he didn't introduce himself, that he had remained just as private. No need for his neighbors to learn he was a cop, no need for them to get into his business...yeah. That was probably why he was having this problem now...did this tiger step out of a paper towel commercial? God damn.

The white tiger, who's name had escaped his sharp eyes and ears, did not have the same aura of uncertainty. No, he knew what he was doing. Looking and dissecting this fox with a laser focus that gave the world the Cold War madness. He excluded manliness like it was going out of style. Frankly Nick was wondering if he was real.

Perhaps this was some sort of viral marketing for the new Ancient Herb? In any case, he wasn't moving. No, he had a two year lease on this place. He was going to win this...


	44. Department Mandated

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The beat is tough, but it doesn't have to be toughed out alone.

Doctor Longfellow's office was one of the newer ergonomic smart building ones, a million dollar baby in a building that had gone over budget and over time. One Central Avenue, the Roebuck Tower, tallest building on the continent. Right here in Zootopia. Longfellow didn't like it, he worked for Civil Care LLC, government contractor that ran the city's HMO, they had moved in to a "centralized and prestigious" new location when their contract was renewed. He much preferred the Bed-Sty complex, the place had character, this...was too clean. Too white and shiny. Would put his clients and patients at ill-ease.

Building services probably would never get around to instituting the changes he requested.

At least the room was doing as advertised, he sat comfortable in a ergonomic swivel chair, one he brought special. It's back and neck support was second to none, and he'd be able to lean without fear. The giraffe's lot when it came to office space was not a kind one, and here he was complaining...but he was right to, his hoovetips clicked, it would definitely not be in the best interest of his patients.

"Doctor, your four o'clock is here." Came a soft voice over his desk intercom. He leaned his snout over to the receiver mounted on the wall.

"Send them in." Longfellow said simply, his eye catching his diplomas that he had mounted upon the wall. MD, PHD, License to Practice.

This would be a tough case, potential excessive force suite had been thrown out due to video evidence, but the file suggested that it was still not something the Brass could ignore. Broken fingers, micro-hold, head trauma, extreme violence. It had gone outside the department policy, but it had been also an extraordinary situation.

Longfellow pressed down on the reconfiguration button, the other side of his office sliding and folding so that his patient couch would be level to his face. Studies showed that animals preferred not to look up at their therapists, because they could not help but feel diminished when their therapists looked down at them. Unconscious reactions. The couch was massive, a massive lounge floor for airweight animals, and just the right size of heavyweighters to sit back in.

His four o'clock was a lightweight animal, small, so it would do them good to not have to feel smaller than ever. The water dispenser and selection of cup sizes were ready, and he had tea packets in his desk. Longfellow girded himself.

He was no pill pusher, and cops were never satisfied. They thought it was a flaw in their character, weakness. That was either too embarrassing or easy to fix with chemical solutions. Too many got on opiates because their doctors didn't want to spend the time. Longfellow took a deep breath, and tried to give a soft smile, he aimed it at the door. The shadow behind the fogged glass just up to his knee on tip toes.

It would be a long session.


	45. The Day Comes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We all make our beds, and we all have to lie in them. There are costs to being a godmother, there are costs to being a hero, make sure the costs are worth it.

Judy Hopps stares sullenly at IAB Lieutenant Jarrod Lauder, the snow lynx looked old. His already grey and white fur lined with age, some spots pure white as he lost true color. His whiskers long. A ZPD blue blood, with over twenty years on the job.

If not for why she sat in front of him, Judy Hopps would have very much admired the cat. She would have aspired to be him, to surpass him. One of the good ones in IAB, who didn't jam up officers on minor beefs, but kept everyone on their toes regardless. Not that it helped, as they waited in silence.

"...you're not the first." 

"Pardon?" Judy asked, blinking, they had spent the last half hour waiting. For her Union rep, the ADA, and the captain of Organized Crime.

"Don't talk, wait until your Union rep gets here..." Lieutenant Lauder sighed, taping a dull claw onto his legal pad. The micro recorder on the desk was off, the camera in the corner off, no mammal behind the observation mirror. Judy's big ears and eyes would have alerted to those facts, but even he didn't know if someone turned on the Observation Room camera. Lauder rolled his neck, and slid his chair up.

Judy bit her lip. What was he going on about?

"You're not the first cop that got in with someone, call 'em CIs, call them connections, but, I figured you should know, you ain't the first...and...if you do it right, you're going to be in the clear." Lauder offered kindly, he was one of the good ones after all. Lauder tapped his claw against the legal pad.

"Surprising thing is, you got in with a big fish...no pun intended...so...listen...I wouldn't be telling you this, if I didn't think you were good police. So take that as a compliment...who they got as your Union Rep?" Lauder meandered and rambled, like a old salt sailor or crusty veteran. 

He talked like Judy's poppop did, with age and experience of someone that had seen it all.

Judy Hopps bit her lip. He told her not to talk. She took a breath.

"Randal Staysee." She offered.

"Good giraffe, competent." Lauder replied simply.

They lapsed into silence again.

"...They're thirty minutes late now..."

"I know, right?"


	46. The Woodsfox, The Rabbit-At-Arms

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A scene in the darkness of an old wood, a long time ago.

The kriegsmesser was a heavy blade, or at least this one was. The rabbit rested it upon her forearm, aiming it at the brigand before her. It was pig steel, some blacksmith's apprentice's novice work. Roughly hewn and sharpened, blackened blade. It was not something she wished to rely on, but her family did not have the money to arm her, and her own paltry earnings had gone into her mail coat and helm. Her gabson. Protective things, it would be what won the day.

His father's hatchet was sharp, its head still going strong since his father's father's day. It was a good solid iron, sharp enough to shave with on the first stroke. Better than the chipped sword the rabbit carried. His crossbow forgotten in lieu of a hatchet and wooden shield. He wore no mail, a boiled studded leather jack under a cloak of leaves and branches a weak defense against a sharp sword and the skill to use it...but he was not up against a sharp sword now, was he. His gleaming green eyes locked with shadowed purple ones, his cloth wrapped face, her steel ensconced face.

Two faceless warriors in a dead country. Surviving.

Clatter, clatter, clatter.

Two faceless warriors, wanted both by a victorious army.

A outlaw and a vanquished soldier.

The fox and the rabbit stared at each other, who would be the first to drop their guard?

They had to run.


	47. Lies. Lies. Lies.(Gilt's)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cops are never off the job, they may get off shift, they may take vacations, but the call to duty is forever on their shoulders. On the good ones at least.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by a scene from Major Crimes/The Closer.

"Yeah, yeah, Clawhauser, I want those new jet engine style dryers for Gilt's. You got those new college types wanting authentic neighborhood food...but still wanting to feel special." Nick Wilde, small business owner, and technical slum lord, said as he slowed down for a red light in Southwest Central's club district. He coughed, adjusting his bluetooth headset as he waited for the light to change. A night on the town his friends called, to chase vixens in too short skirts and get drunk on cheap boiler makers. Social media awareness, business collaboration, and peer networking he called it. Not to mention a few well to do types were all to happy to transact with a fox such as himself.

"No, I know. Yeah. Okay, I know." Nick sighed as he tapped the soft pleather cover over his steering wheel. He ran a hand through his head fur, as he felt his face pinch. "Sure, the guys and gals back at the House ain't the most eco conscious lot, but listen, we can't rely on them forever. They're our people, but, listen. Listen." Nick reached up to adjust his rearview mirror, checking his teeth as he did so. He had a few more establishments to hit, from smoke house to pool hall, there was ever more ways the small business owner could work their brand. "Gilt is doing fine now, but we need to always be looking forward. Expand the brand, get more customers, this is going good for us, and we need to make it better. They're our people, and they'll always have a place in our place, don't worry, but still...we're still responsible for ourselves. For our employees."

Nick smiled, yes, they were responsible for themselves. There was that new snazy new food truck that Clawhauser was pressing for, oh how he wanted it. The chubby cheetah had so many ideas for a menu, his own home cooking already a main attraction on his free shifts. There was a putter as a young doe rolled next to his car. The red light still maddeningly still.

"Okay, listen, fine, sure. I can see that, but you got to spring it on Judy. I know she is the most silent partner of ours, and she's into the eco friendly bar setup too...yeah, okay. You got me, I can see about backing you up, but you're the one that needs to bring it up. Ciao." Nick smirked as he hung up, his tail barely restrained in wagging. He glanced over to his little traffic neighbor, or rather his big traffic neighbor. Her shaped feminine antlers painted a pleasing shade of pink that matched her helmet. He gave a happy wave, and smirk. A good mood was always good to share.

The young doe waved back, she seemed like the type to approve his campaign for paperless sinks. All sort of pins adorned her denim jacket, and she had a UZC sticker on her little bike. The light turned green. Nick softly pulled forward as the doe gunned it, puttering off to the max speed limit as he slowed into a good five miles under. The Central SW was mired with DUI traps, and officers in need of quota chaff. Driving while a fox was still a thing during party nights like this one. Nick snorted as he looked into his rearview, a fine example of why such things were needed right there.

Having night vision was sometimes a curse.

Some scathole with their brights on driving a Hornet a little too fast, and a little too aggressive-

"Christo!" Nick swore as he swerved, and his economy sedan burning rubber as the Hornet wibbled and wobbled. It wove past him like a bat out of hell, or a sloth drag racing. His eyes struggled to adjust to dimmer rear lights, what was that plate number? His brow furrow as his claws dug into his stirring wheel in stress. The Hornet sped on regardless, just five miles over the limit...but still weaving all about.

It was enough.

There was a flash of pink. Something flying ahead of him. Rolling in front of him.

Nick swerved again, gritting his teeth as every once of his body weight struggled to turn towards the sidewalk and out of on coming traffic, even so light it was. He felt it in his bones, as the front end of his car crumbled against a parking meter. The air bag didn't deploy, his own fault not buying "certified pre owned". His shoulder and collar bone burned. There wasn't time for that. He reached up to his bluetooth headset, it would redial Clawhauser as he dragged himself out of his ruined car. The Hornet was turning off, he squinted at it as he tried to get his legs under him. 70. All he got. 70. Dark colored new model Hornet, plate ending in 70.

"I need RAs now Ben." Nick Wilde, ZPD Detective, interrupted when the ringing stopped and the bright voice of his friend came over. Desk Sergeant Ben Clawhauser's teeth clicked, he should still be on shift. Nick was glad his friend was on shift. "Accident on Mulberry and Bamboo, I need RAs now Ben." Nick limped over to the still form a few dozen yards behind his crashed car. Her bike, it looked salvageable...her helmet came off...

"Sweetie, sweetie, can you hear me?" Nick asked softly as he felt himself go on three, his nails clicking against the warm blacktop. There was so much blood.

"yeah...I can hear...you." The doe sounded confused, her antlers were shattered amongst a bloom of blood. It was beautiful in a way. She took a few slow breaths. "I'm fine." She said, splayed on, on her side. Like she was just resting...

"Ambulances are on the way, just, just stay with me. What's your name, sweetie?" Nick kept his voice smooth, steady, a easy fake smile that reached his eyes on his lips. He was there, down on three, right near her face. There was barely anyone else around, the noise of the clubs ever present. Mixes, from high end dining, to the latest dance crazes. 

So empty for such a lively place.

"Gurri...I'm fine mister...just...just help me up. I just need a help up. Sorry for the trouble." She said, as if she was moving. As if yes, all she needed was a firm paw up, a sit up. She could just get up and be on her way. She was moving.

She wasn't moving.

"It's no trouble at all sweetie. No trouble at all." Nick said, his breathes still smooth, calm, steady. He needs to be calm, a life on the streets, a few years in blue, he was a fox of purpose. Who had things to guide him. Not some random shmuck who'd fail this young doe.

"Man...my...my dad will be so angry...he told me this would happen. Heh...I hope I don't miss my flight home. School's been...been a bit tough..." Gurri said, even as her breaths slowed, and her voice became halting. Her eyes moved, alert, even under drooping eye lids. Nick reached out for her hoof.

"No, you...you won't miss it...and they won't be angry...it will be fine. I promise." Nick lied.

It was a lie.

"Oh...good. Hehe..good..." Gurri smiled, bright and glad.

Bright and glad as her eyes finally drooped close, and everything slowly went limp.

She went limp.

Nick shivered, her hoof was still warm....

He looked up, his ears perking at the sound of shrill sirens, and the color of reds on the horizon.

It was a lie.

Nick Wilde pulled out his badge and slung its chain over his neck as he stood up, getting off three. He smoothed his cream colored coat, and pink shirt. It was a good end of summer flair. He reached up, the silence was deafening, the open line unneeded.

No one deserved this.

Dark colored new model Hornet, plate ending in 70. Front end damage, and blood...

Why did it have to be a lie?


	48. Welfare Check.(Gilt's)[???]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Judy Hopps was never going to stay on the beat forever, but sometimes it is hard not to miss the simplicity of the street and patrol car.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is in need of some feedback, I am wondering if this idea might be worth fleshing out.

"Stupid Gazelle Retirement Tour..." Judy groused as she tugged on the collar of her Service Set As. It had been nearly ten long years since she last wore a set of high vis patrol gear, and it would have been a challenge even five years ago for her to fit into her fresh out of academy set. She had long graduated to desk work, and the tedium of open cases and press releases, the harvest princess of Major Crimes the bloggers sometimes called her. What with her impressive record of four political conspiracies, two serial killers, several high profile cases, and slight roll of belly fat under her belt. Clawhauser's food was mainly to blame on that last part, that and Nick's assistance that she had to approve any and all menu changes the retired desk sergeant wanted. Nick, Nick, Nick. Why the hell was he still getting her into these sorts of scrapes? She probably should complain to AR.

The heavy streamlined ballistic vest she wore under her set blues was already getting heavy as she slid out of the beat up black and white she had checked out. She had to pause, looking up at the modest, but very impressive, three story brownstone in the historic district that she had pulled in front of. EMTs and FDZ were on standby with a patrol officer, department policy was that a supervisory ranked officer had to be on site before any forced entry could be made. Too many mammals suing, too many clods in city hall not realizing the inefficiency. She almost took a step before she sighed and reached back for her tac-glasses. Judy hated how they pinched, but it was another body cam because that damn fatass Metro cop fell on his while subduing a mink and wound up with a police brutality suit. More redundancies.

"What do we got here?" Judy drawled simply at the fresh out of boot pig sweating with her in the heat.

"Welfare check, old elephant missed his doctor's appointment, so he called the home care nurse, who's on vacation, and then the kids, who are also on vacation, he came here himself and the neighbor said she hasn't seen the old fella for a week. So...you know...probably going to be finding him in the bathtub or something..." The rookie scratched his head awkwardly. He shrugged at Judy's unimpressed look, way to state the obvious and dig yourself into a hole if the scene didn't meet expectations. She rolled her eyes at the taller rookie, and looked to the spotted wolf handling the prybar.

"Supervisor on site, you are authorized." She said as she turned on her body cams. She motioned for the rookie to do the same.

"What's your name kid?" She asked as the wolf took to the door with gusto. It revealed a second door.

"Security bars and a barricade bar? Huh...I am going to get the Heavy Irons." The wolf said before the rookie could answer.

"Swinton. Bobby Swinton." The rookie said as he glanced after the wolf, who went to the little FDZ truck. No need to send a whole engine on a welfare check after all. He blinked as the wolf withdrew a sledgehammer and a heavy hooligan bar and yelled at his partner to come out and help him. The polar bear grumbled as he drug himself out of the cab.

"Swinton? Your mom wouldn't happen to be Selma Swinton out of Central Booking would she?" Judy asked conversationally, not that she was that interested. Working the grind taught her that knowing and getting along well with her brother and sister officers were essential...but even she couldn't keep up with all the birthdays and such...was hard, given that they were all different.

"Yeah, she retired. Running for alderman actually." Bobby smiled, his little tusks a polished white. The FDZ mammals were back and hammering at the door, the tinks and calls for strikes now punctuating everything.

"Must be making her proud." Judy said simply, the door was disintegrating. "So, who's the resident?"

"A, urm..." Bobby had to look at his notes. "A Jumbee Dum Bowe the Second? Neighbor said he's been living here for the last forty years or so, and she has been here for twenty of them."

Judy's brow furrowed. It took her a moment. "Wait. Dumbo lives here?" She asked surprised.

"Who?" Bobby blinked.

"Dumbo, won like five Fidos, got his start as a child actor on that carnival fantasy film, 'The Journey Home', back in the 30s. One of the first color films too. Haven't you ever seen 'A Wonderful Life Lived' or 'Dirty Score'? Hell, he even was a transport pilot during the GW2. Dropped paratroopers on Europa. Man, my parents loved his films..." Judy reminisced sadly, her ears folding back as the FDZ mammals broke through.

"ZPD! Welfare check! Mister Bowe, call out!" Judy motioned for Bobby to follow, she led the way as supervising officer. The two EMTs and the FDZ mammals hung back, if this elephant was as old as she was making it seem, then they wanted none of it if he decided to go Grambo. Enough times old folks getting into their old war guns and such and taking a shot with shaky hands and blind eyes. Judy took a sniff.

"You smell that?" She asked, her vague sense of smell telling her that there was something. Bobby's eyes were watering, as he withdrew a hanky and a tube of mentholated cream. He slathered it on and put it to his nose. "Yeah. Decomp..." He gagged. His mother had taught her son to be prepared.

Judy sighed, it was going to be one of those days. She motioned for him to follow. There was a chair assist mounted on the staircase, that went all the way up to the third floor. The former actor liked to be independent it seemed. Everything in its place, the kitchen neat and tidy, the floor dusted, no junk or hoarding. Judy even caught a glimpse of those Fidos in the living room on the mantle along with family photos. Children, now grown and grandparents themselves, children of children, a wife that looked to be sixty something in the last picture she was featured in. The TV was old, and had one of those digital signal converters. On the second floor, she passed a open study, glancing in to vaguely document the scene. There was a typewriter, well cared for and used, sitting there as well.

A very independent and thoughtful elephant, well kept, if only they had been called sooner. He would have been put into a old folks home sure, but...being dead didn't compare.

Judy and Bobby found the old actor in his bed, tucked in, with a soft lax expression. Relaxed, a hint of a frown. Peaceful. The smell was god awful, and even her senses told her that EMTs were not needed. She padded up along with Bobby.

"This...this is my first...urm...dead guy...urm..." Bobby looked green, literally. Judy smiled at him.  
She gave him a nod, there would be a talk after, when they were not on camera. Couldn't have lawyers looking at the footage and seeing dollar signs. She looked around before checking her watch.

"This is Lieutenant Judith L. Hopps, supervising officer, we have discovered a dead body at approximately 1:10PM, July the Seventh, twenty-twenty-six during a routine welfare check. Dead body appears to be resident, Mister Bowe from photographs on bedstand..." Judy paused as she looked at the bed stand, with its photos of a dead wife, and long gone children, a pair of reading glasses a top a note. Along with a big orange pill bottle, empty.

"Apparent suicide, Officer Swinton, please call the ME's office and have them send a examiner." Judy said, as she looked over the note. 'To my dearest family, please forgive me, but it has been too long since I have last seen my beautiful Lenora. I am so tired, and I do not wish to become a burden, for I know I am slowing down. I have lived a good life, and a fulfilling one. Please bury me next to my darling wife, so we may be together here on earth. I am sure G*D will forgive me, for my weakness. Jumbee Dum Bowe the Second.'

It was not a bad way to go, floating on a bottle of pain and sleeping pills. Asleep and dreaming...but why was this bothering her. Judy looked at the note. She looked at it. Leaning it. It was not a standard A9...it was a little shorter...and...those letters, it was in Courier...but...hmm...

"Officer Swinton, please clear the house, but don't touch anything. Tell me if you find a laser printer. Also call the ME again, tell them this is suspicious circs." Judy declared with a tired tone. She looked at him, his eyes wide in surprise. "...well?"

Bobby Swinton blinked.

"Go." Judy gave him a stern nod. He nodded quickly, his glasses almost slipping down his snout. She followed along after him, already gloving up. She followed her own rule by default, looking around the third floor. Just some more bedrooms, cleaned up kids rooms and guest rooms. Empty house. She went back to the study on the second floor. What looked like a old Doors 9 handed down from a child if the stamp business stickers were any indication sat with a older actual powder toner printer in a cubby on the desk. So that was out...and the typewriter was a Courier fonted machine, but its ribbon did not end in with 'dneceS'. No it ended with a 'gniyl'?

Judy snorted.

Definitely suspicious circs.

"Swinton, you find that laser printer yet?" She cried out towards the first floor.

"No! This place is like out of a movie or something." Came the reply.

"Call dispatch, have them send out a SID team! This is definitely not right!" Judy called out. Almost fooled, any other day, any other officer, just a little more tired...they would have been fooled.

She felt herself bite her lip, she could take the case herself. She was responding officer. There were photos everywhere it seemed. She looked around the study, so neat and tidy it was. She could take the care herself...

There he was, smiling with his wife, on the red carpet. Pastel suits and polyester among the black ties...there he was, sitting there with his sons and daughters, and then his grand sons and daughters, and his great grand sons and daughters...there he was. Alive and never alone...

"Show Major Crimes responding too!" Judy added.

"What?!" Swinton called up, looking up from where he stood in the stair case.

"Show Lieutenant Hopps, from Major Crimes, responding." Judy Hopps growled.

"Yes LT!"


	49. Memento Mori[???]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Related to chapter 48, the case develops and dead ends are bountiful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Perhaps this and the Cold Case series of snippets are currently the closest things able to be fleshed out. I am hoping someone might read them and perhaps offer up some feedback or suggestions on how I might be able to continue them.

The video was stilted, off kilt as the videographer fiddled with the camera, pointed at the big blue sky with big fluffy clouds. The fur of a wind sock on the big production level shotgun mic falling into frame, those big fluffy clouds jittering and jutting. "Johnson!" The impatient cry came, before finally the camera was brought to bear on the videographer's own face. A lion with a big mane, a look of concern as he fumbled with his video camera. It then shifted around, the camera braced forward towards a white wolf in a polo and khakis, with a thin ZPD windbreaker over his shoulders. The wolf stood up on the steps of a classical brownstone building.

"I'm coming." The videographer said, and with that he padded forward. Silent as the wolf turned with an annoyed huff and stepped up to the door. He gave himself a moment to breath, before turning back. A look of professionalism that was only marred by unprofessional dress was attached and locked in place on the wolf's face.

"I am Detective Sergeant Grizzoli, ZPD Major Crimes Unit. It is July seventh, two thousand twenty six, approximately 2:55PM." The wolf said, and with that the lion videographer followed. The camera auto focusing as they stepped into the darker interior area, out of the daylight. The wolf narrated, and as he did so, the crime scene suited SID officers peeled off from the group.

It was all very professional, all very clinical and by the book. Chief Mwana Bogo could nary find a fault in the officers, as they descended upon everything like a swarm of hungry locusts. Cataloging, filming, and otherwise recording every nitty gritty detail they found. Which by the looks of things were the nitty gritty details of one very boring retired life.

"Tell me again, Lisa, why am I giving you go ahead for department overhead and release funds for forensic accounting consultants for this case?" He asked, as the camera zoomed in on the faked suicide note, and the empty bottle of pills. Bogo looked down, at the file that had been assembled so far. The rather thin and lacking file. Bogo looked up to the tigeress that sat primly in front of his desk. Her $800 power suit wrinkle free, even as she sat with a leg jauntily crossed. She stank of that feline satisfaction and the fashionista primping. Captain Lisa Fangmeyer was the stark contrast to her boss, who wore the standard uniform set A.

"Because Mwana, we got a dead millionaire, a boat load of suspects, and lots of old paper to dig through." Fangmeyer smiled toothily, and she nodded. "How is Sharon? I heard she has been leading your high risk warrants team well."

"You know your own daughter is doing well, don't change the subject." Bogo replied, adjusting his glasses so he could glare unamused at the unit commander of his Major Crimes unit. "I am not seeing a major crime here Lisa. Dead old mammal, one of his kids probably did it for a inheritance. Kick it down to Robbery-Anicide." He huffed, closing the file.

"Ah, I would not be so fast with that, Mwana." Lisa shook her head, she tilted her head towards the video playing on Bogo's computer screen. "Staged scene, faked suicide note, this can go a lot of different ways. Plus, our victim was a very public figure..."

"Ten years ago, if that. Last time anyone even heard of him, I was in the academy and so were you." Bogo rolled his eyes, he scratched his horn and looked back to the video. "Use that argument when that washed up beaver fellow hits a slab, this is not a major crime."

"...fine, we don't need the consultants, but I do need authorization on overtime." Fangmeyer pushed, leaning forward and uncrossing her legs. She placed her hands onto Bogo's desk, her face a slight grimace. There was something more to this, than an unit commander wanting to play with the budget.

"I see Hopps is causing you as much trouble as she used to cause me." Bogo chuckled.

"She is gnawing on this so hard, I am surprised she doesn't have some wolf in her." Fangmeyer sighed, her head flopping forward to bang against Bogo's desk. The was a slight groan, her muzzle rubbing against the cool fine oak wood of Bogo's custom desk. This would definitely wrinkle her suit, and not to mention mess up her fur.

"Don't you mean fox?" Bogo joked, as he tucked the file into his OUT pile.

"Yeah, yeah, we all heard it. Two love birds of Major Crimes. It's last years news. We're all on Benny's weight loss now. Get with it." Fangmeyer growled, as she looked up at him. "But seriously, Mwana, I know when to trust one of my detectives. She's a closer, and she says there is something to this. And it's digging at every detective in my unit now too, even me. Lots of dead ends, sure, Bowe's family all seem to be in the clear, no motives there we can see, and for a former A-lister he is squeaky clean now, but something isn't right here. A ghost assassin staged a perfect crime scene, SID found no prints, no disturbances...but we got a staged suicide note. If Hopps hadn't notice it was a laser printed note, it would have gotten past everyone." Fangmeyer rubbed her temples as she picked herself up.

"...fine, you got some overtime. Ain't the first time the ZPD has stumbled across something strange. You don't make any progress in a week, you're either kicking it down or working it without overtime." Bogo sighed, sometimes he was too soft on his unit commanders. He rolled his neck, avoiding the look of relief on Fangmeyer's face.

"Fill me in, what's the working theory." Bogo then request.

"Time travelers."


	50. Your Legend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Perhaps you best not tell your scary new muscle some potentially unclear instructions. Things might get lost in translation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by an old TV show I don't recall the name of at this hour, but it was about an undercover cop.

Yonny Heltzer was a ram of purpose, and vision. A thirty story co-opt in scenic gentrified Happytown, with a view of the central spire and easy access to both the Financial District and Shopping District. Its own boutique shopping locales, and two community relaxation stations. A rooftop pool, and a regal twenty floor landing and park, and a sky walkway. 

It would be his legacy, if he closed that deal. All he needed to do was get these damn stubborn welfare royals out of the current building. The Dugless Trust Building had been rent controlled since before he had been born. Hell, before his dad was born. It was an eyesore of New Agreement make work. No, he'd get rid of it, get a redevelopment deal, and make Heltzer Tower his legacy.

Ring. Ring.

"This is Yonny!" He clicked on his Bluetooth ear piece and stared at his little model.

"Mister Heltzer, I found that, urm, platypus you were talking about. He was sneaking down in the utility tunnels. That, what you call it, that Billy kid." Came the rough country accent of his newest subcontractor. A Laverne Gambol, some country hick rabbit that his cousin hired.

"Who?" Yonny asked, puzzled.

"The name is Wildfire and the truth will spread like-SLAP."

"Shut your cake hole." Gambol growled, for a female bunny she was very intimidating. Could break walnuts in her bare paws...probably was not a cheerleader in high school.

Was too into flannel.

"Oh. Him...get rid of him." Yonny yawned.

"Mister Heltzer?" Gambol seemed dim, Yonny sighed.

"You heard me, the kid's trouble, so why don't you do you job and get rid of him. Or I will have Berry fire you, you let him get inside in the first place." Yonny didn't have time for this. Yonny had dreams to chase.

"...alright."

Clang.

Yonny blinked at the sound of metal on concrete.

"Hey, hey, what are you-" That idiot blogger Billy started before things cut out.

...

"Ah...urm..." Yonny stammered at the sound of silence. He needed to call Berry. His IPaw was heavy in hoof.

"Hey, hey, bro, that rabbit you hired, where did you find her?" Yonny asked, sweating.

"Oh, see did some time with Terry, you know Terry, she's my weed hook up. Was up for busting some fox's skull in, so she's got the muscle thing down. Why, something wrong?" Berry asked in return.

"She's a ex-con?!" Yonny yelped, that was not good...oh...oh...OH. What did he do? What did he do?!

Yonny hung up and tried to dial that burner his brother got the psycho hare. No, no, no, what did she do?

There was no answer, and Yonny sweated the day away. Waiting. It was a day later, in the morning, as he stared sleeplessly out his office window that the rabbit appeared.

"Yeah, I need a new phone, but your brother said you needed to see me?" Gambol asked with a bored tone, she smelt weird. Oh gods she smelled weird. What was that stench? Yonny felt his teeth click.

"Listen, listen, urm, not to, urm Monday night quarterback, but. Urm. What happened to the guy?" Yonny asked, his wool just full of flop sweat.

"What guy?" Gambol cocked a eyebrow.

"The guy! The kid!" Yonny pressed, his stomachs turning.

"Ah...I did what you told me to do. I got rid of him." Gambol said, making sound like he was the freak.

"No, I mean, did you get rid of him, get rid of him? What did you do to him?" Yonny felt his tongue numb, words escaping him.

"I showed him the sewage inflow stream down by the Canals." Gambo, shrugged.

"YOU TOSS-" Yonny slapped his hooves to his snout. "You tossed his body into the water?!"

He was going to drown in his own flop sweat.

"What? No." Gambol laughed, Yonny felt a ray of hope. She smiled. "Pour."

"Huh?" Yonny shivered.

"Poured, and my phone, and I left the drum with some wood for some bums." Gambol shrugged again.

"What...what...what do you mean?" Yonny felt his hopes die.

"I, poured, urm, him. Listen, you alright?" Gambol asked, looking concerned.

"No, what the fuck does that mean rabbit?!" Yonny demanded hotly.

"Haven't you ever watched Breaking Bahd?" Gambol frowned at him.

"What!?"

"...oh...hmm...you meant kill him and dispose of his body, right?" Gambol asked, seemingly now getting what he was worried about.

"NO!"


	51. My Legend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes foxes bring rabbits in suitcases to the meet and greet...rabbits armed to the teeth...undercover work is interesting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by Acquisitions Incorporated PAX 2016 intro.

All smiles, and a hope up, onto the table. Against protocol, against common sense, red furred paw reached up to pat on a big shoulder as the other lay a hand on the box.

"Listen, what's in my box ain't a concern of you or yours...but if things go bad, you're going to die first...cuz you're the closest to me..." Came the whisper, accompanied by that sly friendly smile.

Tigers were not supposed to be afraid of things smaller than themselves, that was all Brandon Pounce could think of as the fox opened the box.

The rabbit that lay in the box cradled a gun, a really dangerous looking black gun, its big armored vest and gas mask hid its gender, the thing reached up to its filter, shushing him.

"So, is the package in there?"

Brandon looked over to his boss.

"...no." He offered.

"Close the lid." The fox whispered, the gas masked rabbit lay its trigger finger back in place.

Brandon closed the lid.


	52. When your best friend is sick.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When your best friend and partner is sick, ain't it natural to want and try and help them?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Was given a prompt on one of the Zootopia fan discords last year, this was the result. I probably should do one where it is Judy taking care of Nick. Feedback appreciated.

With ice dripping from the onion bulbs of the Desert Rose casino in the Saraha Square commons, to solid cubic meter ice making the things uniceable in Mister Big's demesne, not even the famed envrio-walls of Zootopia could keep things on an even keel. Mother Nature was owed her due, and she was very well going to take it. Not to say, that Zootopia's various inhabitants were in any way inconvenienced. Traffic was still as bad as it was when it was slightly warmer. Prices of gas was on the rise like it always was. And mammals got sick. Especially mammals who were experiencing their first arctic cold snap in the city. Especially mammals who were from homogeneous communities. Especially mammals who forgot to get into line for the department provided (and more importantly free) vaccines to instead go to see Gazelle at a special holiday meet and greet at a new Jack Savage film. Judy shivered in bed, her ears folded, her eyes wide, and her entire body shaking. She sweated and felt as if the creator themselves was casting her down to the stygian pit...though how could a stygian pit be both hot and cold? Her burrow was already steaming as the radiator boiled, but she felt as if she were outside, bathing in the snow. Her fur on end, her winter coat actually shedding in some places. Bzzt. The buzzer for the front door rang, and it was so far away.

 

"Little Carrots, Little Carrots, let me come in!" Came the static filled voice of some red furred devil, who was no doubt here to steal what little was left of her vitality, with lies. Because he was a lies fox...not at all she was thinking this because she was currently a disgusting mucus leaking handbag. It was time for desperate measures.

\------

Zootopia was a beautiful city, a place where mammals could come and anyone could be anything, or so the tourist board said. Zootopia was a harsh mistress, a hustler and a dealer, a peddler of dreams. And only the quick and the clever got those dreams. The strong would then steal from them. It was a complicated mess. Or so the story went, but for Nick Wilde, Happytown Hustler, the hard edge of his city seemed to give away to some shine under the rust and muck. Though speaking of muck, as someone who was never one to turn down free anything, let alone actual "free" medical care, the harsh nip of the arctic cold was nothing more than a refreshing brisk shock, his full and lush winter coat puffing up his down jacket quite nicely. The burlap grocery tote he slung was delightfully full, and would no doubt serve his erstwhile partner's body well. Bzzt. click, click, click. "gggggooo a-away, he-athen! Red Devil! Dweller of the smote cities Slitherom and Grassmora!" Came some strange reply, Nick considered it for a moment as the shivering country static devolved into some form of demonic call, or perhaps holy tongues? The noises made reminded him of some choice nights lying awake in some of his less than ideal crash spots. "Now come on Carrots, let's play nice. I am not the devil." Nick calmly retorted as he eyed the door.

"Jaffa cake karee! Blub cough blurg!" Yeah, that was the Denford-Sty Shakes alright. Nick checked his watch, as he pressed the button again. A good mental picture already developing. "I am not Richard Dean Antlerson either. Now let me in." Nick held the call button down. Odds were pretty playable he wouldn't even need to wait for someone to come out. clickclickclickscrap

\-------

"Samaretan!" Why was the boat moving? Or was it a bed? The waves were coming in hard tonight. Judy pressed herself deeper into her cheap spring mattress, her yard stick scrapping against the door intercom across her tiny apartment. Bzzop. "...oh cheese...and...crackers..." Judy felt her lips go numb as she listlessly recognized the sound of her buzzing in a visitor. Could she get up to pull down the security bar and fortify her abode against the demons that railed against her?! Who came to invade her sacred divine space? She had to bar the door against them! Judy stared at the security bar. A good ten steps away. Away from the burrow, where it was slightly warm, next to the radiator... She just needed a minute.

\------

Nick hummed, yeah, that seemed correct. He pulled open the door with a sigh, oh the trouble that little bunny made for him. The landlord of hers was vegging out in front of A Wonderfur Life by the sound of things, and given he wasn't hearing those neighbors of hers from the lobby, they must have been out and about. He padded up the steps with a habitual slyness, silent, and oh so forgettable, just another shape in a hall. Act like you were supposed to be there, and everything would fall your way. And if you were actually supposed to be there, well, bonus.

Nick rolled his shoulder as he walked up the steps, as was the norm in these little holes in the wall, ancient brownstones that predated even the old projects. Oh, ten thousand steps. Nick hummed as he checked his bitfit.

\-----

Bar the door against the coming night, where the sinners and usurers would come from! Just another minute. It would come.

\-----

Judy Hopps was the sort to spread keys around, that small town trust of hers, her undoing and his convenience. Nick had to jiggle it, the Woolmart copy in his paw just a bit too janky for her already abused and old lock. "Carrots, you better be decent in there!"

\--------

The usuer had come! Red devil and pagan! Heathen. Apostate? No godly sort could allow such a sinner entry to their house! A mighty leap forward to slam down the gates ahead the barbarian! Judy Hopps stared at the door as Nick Wilde popped the deadbolt and sauntered in. Or at least try to. "Car-Woah! Gah." The fox gagged as the sheer heat and odor assaulted his sensibilities. And for a mammal with an express pass on the blue, red, and yellow lines, that was saying something, but he was a Zootopian, born and bred. And with a ease coming from such a public transport life and from inhabiting all strata of society, he smiled brightly. "ggggggggggoooooooo-" "Good looking eh? You always knew how to charm me Carrots. Now let's get a good look at you." Nick murmured as he pulled a paper face mask from his pocket, the Tigers down at the pharmacy were quiet kind with the complimentary giveaways. The grey pallor of Judy's fur did little to hide the actual gray pallor of her flesh, her dry lips and crusted everything shivering pitifully.

"nnnnnnhh! NNnnnnh!" Judy bitterly shivered as her burrow was thoroughly deconstructed, her defense against the freezing heat gone! What was she to do! The primal instinct in her hindbrain told her the right thing to do. Curl up and hope the heat comes back. "Geez, how long have you been in here?" Nick muttered to himself idly, his partner was no doubt checking out for a primo flight to Lalaland. The odor of stale cup noodles and fruit cake seemed to baste the smell of BO and sick. The pile of tissues and empty cardboard boxes hid the trash can. Judy's teeth clattered audibly as he did his best to decrumb her sheets and bundle her up. Her small form viciously fighting off whatever it was attacking it. Were it not for the hateful light in her eyes, Nick would have probably have left her at Central Hospital, but alas Judy was of sterner country stock and no mere city borne cold would get her in a doctor's bed. No, she was just healthy enough to have to deal with a usuer and gambler who schemed. Like a schemer.

"So right, let's get you bundled back up, I see you don't have any hot water bladders, but that's fine, I got the full nine yards. Let's get you set up." Schemer! Judy glared as she limply let the fox in her burrow pick her up and bundle her up, like a gift to his schemer friends. Nick, for all the unwarranted plague brought hostility, took it all in good humor. Humming the latest Gazelle hit as he tossed a couple of hot water bladders into her little microwave, and he dug out the hot plate from under the pile of discarded noodle cups. He set a small pot atop the thing, and popped the top off a box of veg broth.

"Now, let's get this place cleaned up. Untidy room, untidy mind, you taught me that." Nick smirked. "You cannea steal mah soul! Arche fiend!" Judy babbled as she slowly slid onto her side and let her shivers become a soothing rocking, atop rocking. Maybe it was not so soothing. Her family's country drawl turned into her pop-pop's old country brought.

"Yeah, yeah, shush." Nick reached out to boop her twitching, and somewhat unwholesomely wet nose. Perhaps that was a mistake. Nick considered it before wiping his paw on one of the noodle cups. Trash bags were in her closet, and with a frawp he started cleaning up. The stock would be a little bit for a boil, and the microwave was a good three minutes going.

Tissues, tissues, tissues, tissue box, tissues, spent noodle cup, spent noodle cup, spent noodle cup, old junk mail, spent noodle cup, tissues, tissues, paper towels, bucket of stuff, tissues, tissues, tissues.

Nick's fur crawled as he went through one, then two, and then three hefty trash bags. Out popped his paw sanitizer and to town he went on the tube. Getting the alcohol solution nice and in there, between his fingers, under his claws, and really, really into the fur...and onto his coat cuffs just to be safe.

Ding.

"Heaters ready." Nick clapped as he went over to retrieve the hot rubbery bladders of warm goodness. The stock was barely simmering, what sort of pansy hotplates did they sell in the hick backwaters? No doubt they were busy doing other things, involving produce, rather than investing in proper hot plate infrastructure. He hummed as he pulled open the bundle of blankets that was Judy's person.

"Prodestant In-in-in-ohaaahaaahhh-former!" Judy slurred, melting as those big warm things were slid up against her flanks. She chirred and chirped and her eyes rolled as the boiling hot warmth just hit her through her flannel jammies and the blankets.

"mmmm." She let her eyes droop and glaze slightly as Nick returned to the stock, and started to pull open various little packets of this and that. Mushrooms and tofu for protein, some citrus for vitamins, salt and pepper to taste. Boil for ten minutes. Really, ma would have probably whooped him good if he didn't do a full hour, and get the spice mix in, but he doubted his little loopy lapine would be in a state to appreciate the Wilde family secrets.

"Are we feeling better?" Nick asked rhetorically, reaching over, and pulling Judy up so she was reclining properly against her bed's headboard. Also know as a wall. Judy made some sort of noise, that sounded perhaps sapient. Perhaps. She was staring at nothing at all at the moment, and given it was not inane blather or a hostile glare, he'd take it. Any retaliation on her saner parts would be forestalled by various contingencies. Though first he had to get her better.

The soup bubbled to a boil, the pre-cooked tofu soaking in the stock as the mushrooms cocked to a somewhat edible consistency. Wasn't as if Carrots would notice the andante mushrooms Nick consoled himself. He kicked Judy's lone stool to the side of the bed and placed the small soup pot by the frosted window, letting the heat dissipate against the arctic frost covered glass.

"Now are we ready for the airplane?" Nick smiled wickedly as he brought his phone out. Judy blinked blearily at him, not at all understanding the nuances of the situation, but the red devil usurer protestant informer sinner person was making the noise, and she was supposed to make noise back, but it was so good to finally be warm. What was a Carrots to do? What do?!

"nnnnnngggg..."

"That's the spirit!" Nick smiled as Judy drooled slightly and her snotty face went lax in confusion. He set his phone against her desk lamp and aimed it at her face with an experienced eye. He even had a good golden mean. "Now, who's ready for the airplane?" Nick against again, getting the big sippy spoon out. He rested the soup pot on his lap, the boiling scalding heat now a harsh warmth against his winter pants and winter fur coat. "...mmmeee?" Judy asked, as if some awareness had returned, even if it was betraying her at that very moment. "Yes, you...open wide, weeeee!" Nick smirked slyly, as Judy did as she was told. Sip. Nick Wilde would pay for everything, and his future self would rue him, and he, his present self knew it...but hey, it was the future him's problem. Not like spring was now.

\-------Fin.--------


	53. Judy is a fan girl, Nick loves to shop at thrift stores.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> See title.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was given a prompt on one of the Zootopia fan discords last year, I wrote this natively in the text box. Has not been edited much, and is posted raw.

Nicholas P. Wilde was not one would call the most fashionable adept, with floral print shirts and ties being the most obvious deficiency in what could be generously called an eclectic fashion taste. Not that most mammals knew, nor did Nick himself care, that being tight or on fleck was not so much a state of being, but a skill. A skill he had mastered, just as well as mastering his skills with rhetoric and double talk. The right sort of watch, the right sort of coat, the right sort of fur gloss or cologne. It all could feed into work. How to get the mammal across from you to accept, to want, to need you. Whether it took a pair of thousand dollar silks or ghetto jeans and a bottle of malt liquor, Nick knew how to present to the world, what it wanted. Though personally, when he was on his off time, he himself could admit, what he wanted was junk. Fun junk, but still junk. Floral print shirts and ties. Or big ridiculous scarves.

Most wouldn't consider Silver Thrift to be anything amazing. It was a small family place run by some groundhogs that costed on neighborhood nostalgia and the fact it stood between the Lambent Ave Temple and Den Baptist Church and was backed against to Burrow Heights. One of those melting pot success stories Zootopia always liked to brag about. Never mind other sorts of stories. Nick hummed as he considered the racks, idly glancing around to check on the world and the stories it told him. Shriner's hat and jacket, well cared for with wax paper protecting the buttons. Burrow Heights Monster colors, all rumpled and unwashed. He yawned as he passed it all and went to his favorite section past the medium mammal button shirt racks. The miscellaneous and remaindered stock wall. Hats, gloves, totes, bags, socks, crampons, and scarves.

Big ridiculous scarves.

He need not paw through the selection, for one thing had caught his eye today. Past the season specific Christmas selection, and what looked like a soriety sash, it was a big thing made of wool and smelled of someone's grandma's closet. That old musky scent of moll balls and hardwood. This had been someone's project, and well, who was he to deny such a thing a home? The little memory check it should have been stashed in flickered in his mind, a hustler's sense of play always going, but nowadays he found it more useful when gauging mammals.

The wool was not commercially dyed, no, he could smell to do it at home old country methods. Crushed chitin and rotgut home brews, and some other things that old ewe biddies talked shop about. Though perhaps not shop, he held the thing up, arms wide, and even then the ends reached down to brush the ground. The knitter had started, and never stopped, this was never meant to be worn by a sheep, or a fox. Perhaps a mammal of his new boss's size, or bigger, Bogo's barrel chest would no doubt tickle many a fancy if festooned with this and nothing else. Make work Nick decided, it was make work. And now it was his make work. Though for 19.99 he was more than right to be outraged, even mockingly as he slid that rumpled bill across and walked out. Three whole loops and arm slings, he smirked at his own reflection as he pushed his way into the cool breeze of the street. His ear perking behind him as he padded off to the raised subway platform. The B line would take him to Tundra Town commons, and he would no doubt amaze Judy Hopps with his incredible deal making abilities. Nick rested his tail on the cheap rough polyester seat of the B line one-fifteen and he settled, his manner easy going, but with the usual guard of a native Zootopian. It wasn't a downtown line, with commuters and tourists, no this was true hardnosed Zootopian street. The grind. He smirked at the ox baba in front of him, her head scarf a oh so conservative red and her purse a pig old carpet bag with big pinky rosy florals. She sniffed and gave him the half-lidded glare that was his and everyone else' right. No doubt enjoying his bold and flavorful accessory.

There was little else to do, as he watched the mammals come and go, and he traversed three boroughs with nary a care. Cept the obvious fronting of some 12th Street Locas who probably were still prospects, making trouble for some shot caller's bottom line. Them, he and everyone else ignored with the casual grace of the public transport mammal...but one ear was in their direction, if only because he knew Carrots would ask, she would no doubt here these fools as the train pulled in. And yes, she would also see them. The pride of wild cats laughed as pushed at each other as the streamed out into Tundra Town, no doubt unaware that the Big family did not take kindly to such unseemingly displays. Nor did their erstwhile godmother associate who would no doubt glare and make many notes to be kicked up to the gangs squad back in Central.

"Carrots, a-" The retort was automatic as he approached his partner. Her pink winter parka a nice contrast against the blues and greys of the Tundra Town Commons station. It died in his throat, even as he noted Judy's pert ears were directed at the boastful cats. No, while her ears were on point, her eyes were wide. Wide and fanciful, and her little pert nose quivered in wonder. My, he had finally found her weakness. No doubt, something on him was prompting this amazement. His new accessory. His new accessory would be the gateway for him to usher her forward into some cute fashion combos.

Though that was not really why his retort died. No, it died because Judy L. Hopps smiled and made a strange nose as she bounded up.

"Jelliebabbies!"

"...bless you?" Nick offered smoothly, smiling bright. Never let them know you were ever in the dark. Judy took a big puffy breath as she reached in and started to...to paw...she was pawing at him. "Would you like a jelly baby? Or rather, do you have jelly babies?" She squealed, burying her face into his new accessory. She took a deep sniff, which was rather concerning, as a few of the more sharp eyed and not at all dreary eyed commuters glanced over. "Urm." Nick filed over his numerous responses for unknown social interactions. "It even smells like I imagine it. Oooooooo!" Judy puffed up. "You should have told me you were a Whovian!" She exclaimed happily. "Have you been to Comix Kon? Oh, oh, David Tanant was there this year. Oh. I so wished I moved here sooner, I could have seen him. Did you see him?" Judy babbled excitedly. Nick took the opportunity to link an arm with her and meander out the front, and down the steps of the station. It gave him time to think as he clinically listened to her while his thoughts whirled. Comix Kon+probable actor name+fangirlism=fandom. Fandom=Whovian. What is Whovian? Nick let Judy just spill and gush and otherwise fill him in on who was her favorite Doctor, of which there was at least eleven. Which meant that this was a long running thing, or something like that, spin offs? Could he risk admitting not knowing? Nick ran the numbers as he smiled gracefully and with a big sweeping motion looped an end over Judy's shoulder and threw an arm around her. A distraction for now. "Let's get out of the cold." The cafe was just ahead, the hum and red glow of its patio heat lamps inviting any and all comers...assuming they had a reservation. "Lansky." Nick nodded to the door-beaver, the stiff faced doorman nodded in respect as he held a paw out. The fifty was compressed into a hard square, and the weighty press was all that was needed. "Mmm, Carrots, why don't you get us started. I need to use the little fox's room." Any retort from the lovely rabbit on his hip was forestalled as he ducked out of the messy loops of the scarf and let them wind around her. She smiled so brightly, her eyes shining in delight as she bundled herself up and parked herself under one of the heat lamps. "Hoovian? Hoofan? Whovan? Hmm...David Tanant?" Nick mumbled to himself as he slithered through the crowd, Zoogle was the best friend of all, giver of all secrets and knowledge. Though perhaps it could have been a little more use than incomprehensible fan wikis full of ads blocking all the content. Wikipedia seemed little better. Perhaps just admitting it would be easier?

Nick eyed the bank of windows that overlooked the patio, five minutes because of a line, two minutes to do business and wash paws, thirty seconds to get back. No way he'd be able to fake it. Figuring out the locality of a mark's accent and regional likes was easier, Muzzlebook did that for him. He groaned, what was going to be a nice day out would turn into a PowerPoint presentation.

"Come on hustler, get hustling. You can turn it around." He rubbed his brow, and pocketed his phone. "Luka! Can I get a couple of daiquiris out front." That would help. With an sigh Nick girded himself and put on a big smile. It was show time.

"I ordered the artichoke dip." Judy mentioned as she sat up a little straighter and she scooched her chair in closer to his. "Well, yes, like we were going on. My favorite is the Eleventh Doctor, but early Doctor Who is so good as well, and Tom Barker, he was excellent and the costume design was so good." She went back to gushing, and he listened. About how the fourth doctor had a moral and ethical complexity and a nuanced writer's perspective on the vanquishing of a ultimate evil. About how this or that character arc fit so cleanly into a massive mythos. About various OTPs, whatever those were, and the jargon filled discussion of cosplay, whatever that was.

Perhaps he need not reveal anything at all, he rubbed her shoulders and leaned in as she looped the scarf, the damnable scarf, around them both. She talked and talked, and he listened, the air around his head a massive of interconnected words, all to be filed away to be used in future. About this or that line of thought, or this or that community, or this and that want or need. He knew a mouse who scalped tickets, down by Fleet Street by that old barber place. Comix Kon was on the menu, though the local con out in the sticks just for this thing was probably not. Memorabilia and fan created work. Hmm, shame he never got into that, sounded like quiet the racket. He nodded attentively and made the usual noises, agreement, disagreement, inquisitive.

Of course fate would not be so kind, as he braced himself for what was no doubt a sinking question. "So...who is your favorite Doctor?" Judy asked, taking a breath, their artichoke dip now all done, and both daiquiris nothing more that drips and drops. Nick smiled bright and closed his ears, his ears upturning attentively. "I don't have one. Never watched the show." He nodded. Judy's expression froze as the gears in her head ground to a stop. He squinted slyly at her, as her brain seemed to rebel. He let it tick on and on, rising a paw to get their check. Cash was king in his opinion, and always tip correctly was queen. So with that he nodded off to the staff, looping an arm around Judy and leading her away. "Bu-but, the scarf!" She accused a few steps off the patio. "Just got it today, gave me a kick so I bought it." No need for to know where exactly he bought it. "You-you're messing with me, heh, you. You. Should have known." Judy nodded, sighing as she leaned into his shoulder. She snickered. "Sly fox." "Nope. Never seen it." He turned his gaze straight ahead, towards the station.

"...we had a deep and meaningful conversation about aesthetics! Ho-" "Mm, actually, I recall being a good listener."

"...ah...Ah!" Judy smiled as she lost the bewildered look, instead gaining what she herself would call an enthusiastic connection, but others would call suspiciously predatory. "That means I can teach you! I can jump you in!" "Nice use of the department vocabulary lessons." Nick returned with a chuckle. "No, no, this will be great. Like, I always wanted to get someone into the series, but my classmates at the academy were always too busy, and when I went to ZSU I found the Whoovian club, and look it will be great! I have all the blurays!" Judy tightened her hold around his arm, her other paw pulling down on the scarf. It was almost like a noose. Her eyes glinted as he sweated slightly.

"Urm, I thought we were going to the park down by TTCT?" Nick could feel his weekend flutter away. "No. No, we are going to have a marathon. I am going to show you the light. Allons-y!" Judy twisted her hips and with that they were off not towards the blue line, but the yellow. He nodded, smiling weakly. Yes, he would go, and he would hang out, and there would be popcorn, and there was oodles and oodles of episodes. He thought up back to her gushing thesis, this and that seemingly important tidbit to look out for.

The train ride back was punctuated with the various standard good listener questions. Asking why this or that mattered, saying names inquisitively. Letting the talker give one everything you needed to know the subject they oh so loved. Perhaps loved too much. The rocking back and forth and the warmth of the scarf became so heavy, as the late afternoon sun drifted between the rails and the beams. Her crapy ass one room apartment still hers to claim, in the rent controlled rising gentrifying neighborhood of hers. "ohhh. I should get some popcorn, like. Oh." Her smile was so bright, she was so happy. Nick merely smiled sitting up upon the bed, watching Judy set up her laptop. Her perk tail bouncing as she leaped up there with him, he let her settle against his stomach. He smirked with a tired sigh, she her giddiness was infectious. The music seemed jaunty at least, and it looked like she was starting off with something in black and white.(edited)

"Are those strings?" "Shush you. Just enjoy." Judy settled in, letting Nick and that oh so glorious scarf wrap around her. Nick could live with strings.

\------fin-----


	54. Probationary Period, 56 Weeks. Roll Call.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The road to being Judy Hopps partner is longer than just passing the academy, being the ZPD's second featherweight officer means much more than being kicked into parking duty and getting pulled into the deep end. It means Bogo is going to do it right the second time around.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is another potential basis for an actual fic, if I ever find the time and the help to write it. Feedback wanted.

Precinct 1...P.

The old peeling linoleum and the cracking brutalist concrete facade of Precinct 1P, or Brutal Papa as it was known, did very much indicate the character of its officers and its staff who served the environs that constituted Zootopia’s infamous War Wheel neighborhood. The front lines of every tough on crime program every mayor since the Gilded Age focused on. It wasn’t called that no more, obviously, no it was known as the Clawton Highpoint Crossroad district now. The hard edge of gentrifying hipsters and immigrants pulling the southern edges of the district out of the graffiti and gang pack riddled past. Not that expensive coffees and fabulously tended to manes could solve all the problems. The spokes of the War Wheel always led to bad places, and one out of six leading to Yoga studios, stupidly expensive organic supermarkets, and very stupidly expensive for profit pre-pre-schools didn’t stop the other five from leading towards those bad places. Be it the hidden parts of Zootopia’s urban blight, to the various dark places where anything from bootleg DVDs to mammal’s very lives could be bought or sold.

Though truth be told, those were the concerns of much bigger animals. Of ulcer ridden unit chiefs, terror filled undercover officers, and ground to dust analysts.

The officers of Precinct 1P, they focused on what they could do and what they hoped to do. What was once a superb state of the art station back in the Prohibition era was now the hard-bitten annex of Precinct 1's supply of Probationary Officers. Those slated for work in the big house, where old bull Mwana Bogo held court with his unit chiefs and monitored his pet projects. Like his high visibility patrol program. To be assigned to P1P was to be assigned to the crucible that made or broke mammals, and reserved for those hard-bitten animals that would climb the ranks and do their twenties and their thirties even if it meant three dead marriages and an early grave. There was very much a mood. A serious place filled with serious mammals, wearing High Vis Patrol gear and the accompanying level 3 armor, getting ready to meet the streets and come back home no matter what. A torrent of police militarization and training, with high impact pads, armor, chase and endurance support clothing, and duty load distributed across a mammal’s body like out of the movies. A room divided by the Probies in front, and the TOs in back.

It was very not the place for Service Set A uniform with its peaked watch cap, clip on tie, and old-fashioned Sam Browne. Especially when the runt of the whole shift was wearing that A Set.

Probationary Officer(1) Nicholas P. Wilde sat with a chilled and comfortable relaxedness, front and center of P1P’s Street Patrol day shift. It was either a statement or perhaps a bit of foolhardiness that the Reynard wore such an old-fashioned uniform, none of the other boots fresh from the Academy did the same, choosing instead to mimic their older counterparts. Though perhaps that was their age showing? Or his age showing? At 32 going on 33 Nick was a bit old to start the climb, the next oldest Probationary Officer being 26 and only six years from the Training Officer average of 39. Veterans of slow-burning wars, mammals fresh from college and academy, mammals that somehow made the cut when only looking for a job out of the harsh inner city. In any case, he was in the peripherals of his fellow officers, the Training Officers wondering what this fool of a boot was doing, and the fellow Probies worried they had come dressed wrong. The entire shift seemed to swirl in thought and low conversation, that for whatever reason, the fox decided that choosing the Service A Set was appropriate. The uniform of desk workers and the very oldest of old timers.

It was illuminating.

Nick Wilde’s ears didn’t twitch, nor did his gaze falter, as he quietly listened to the room and absorbed what it had to tell him. Tone and timbre, mood, scent, and state. The toothed and clawed always seemed to gravitate around their cliques, more so than the tusked or horned. His distantly related cousins seemed always the same, sizing up how a new element affected group dynamics, what the communal response should be. Felines if they were of the group sort, tended to always want to know if they should care, and if so, who should deal with it. Elephants and rhinos tended to be aware, though more standoffish if their sensibilities were offended. Stereotypes were stereotypes for a reason.

Of course, perhaps they would all conclude he wished them to conclude.

“Attention!” Called the tired looking stag that served as his shift’s watch sergeant. Harold Briarhorn was haggard looking, a bit too thin and gaunt, but his horns were impressive. A well cared for department mandated eight points, blunted of course. Loved telenovelas too much if the soft dulcet tones of melodrama that came from his phone regularly was any indication. Nick smiled in any case, as he rose onto his chair, the shorter canid officers being allowed such a privilege as the taller more robust predators and prey snapped to their paws, hooves, and feet.

Commander Loren Finchback stepped into the shift room, an elder elephant officer with a chest full of bars and big pips on her shoulders, her thick black framed glasses made her dark eyes seem positively massive as she placed her watch cap atop the speaking lectern and then minded her trunk load of files. Already a massive click seemed to sound, Nick’s relaxed smile growing a little more self-satisfied as every mammal in the room noted that he had chosen to dress like their superior officer.

Browner-noser, omega type, sycophant, ladder climber…try hard.

Stereotypes were stereotypes for a reason…and sometimes they were useful. Nick saluted with the rest of the room, and held it with academy fresh precision. Never let the world see you down, and if you can, make the world think what you want it to think…don’t let it think for you and trick you to think you are in control. A certain bunny had taught him that.

“At ease.” Commander Finchback mumbled tiredly, reaching down for a bottle of water that seemed to have been waiting for her. She took a long sip as she sorted through the priorities for the day and her officers took a moment to comport themselves.

“Right. As we all well know, this is the year’s first batch of probationary officers. The last graduating class from last year, and I will say to you what I say to all my probies as dictated by department policy. You don’t get a second chance if you screw up, and you are not entitled to an explanation when you are fired.” She explained with a bored tone, she was a lifelong worker, and this was her work. The elephant crinked her neck and gave each and every one of her new officers a drool look. Where others sought to impress dominance through force of personality, she chose the route of impressing upon the room that they were unworthy of attention and they best keep it that way. Of course, she did pause at the red fox, that sat front and center of one of the rows of desks.

“…right…in any case, as you will be under my care for the next thirteen months, I believe a more personal touch is needed to impress upon you the level of behavior I expect. Sergeant.” Finchback handed Briarhorn a folder, and with practiced and familiar ease he slapped a single sheet of paper down in front of the twenty-eight probationary officers that consumed the front three rows of tables. Nick let his eyes flick down at the paper, though he did not bend his head to look.

“These are Bugabuger Applications, if you fail out of my precinct, I will make sure it is the only place you will find gainful employment in this fine city of ours. So do you best to not screw up, because for every mess you make, I will make you fill out another line…and once it is done, you will be done. Three choices in Brutal Papa, graduate out, fail out, or die. Got it?”

“yes ma’am.” Came the subdued reply.

“I can’t hear you!” Finchback trumpeted with a stomp of her foot.

“YES MA’AM!”

“Good…now sign those forms and pass them back when you are done.” Finchback narrowed her eyes and coughed delicately into her fist. “Right, there’s been an uptick in chatter between the Metford Bloods set in Hyenahurst and the Fur Locos around the South-East bridge. Corner boy got shot last week, and the Gang unit says there might be a push from Hyenahurst into the Wheel. Bad news there, want eyes and ears open, and cops seen. Make sure no one starts something stupid.” Finchback started off as Nick filled in his form and passed it to the sergeant.

“Since it’s an election year, we’re getting calls for cleaning up the streets, so that means another round of discouraging the Johns from Downtown driving up to the Wheel for some quick fun. That’s going to be the other thing on the docket for today. If you see it, ticket it and all that. Make sure to get both sides, and if you got something hard, start booking. City hall wants hard numbers in the next CompStat report. Aside from that, listen to your TOs and make sure to check the daily bulletins before you head out. Dismissed.” With that, Finchback walked out and let Briarhorn take position at the lectern, he barked out partner assignments with the voice of a hard smoker.

“Ableton and Zedder.” 

“Netmouth and Lohan.”

“Riverwatch and Wilde.”


	55. Probationary Period, 56 Weeks. Code 10-00

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Every cops nightmare, when that call goes up followed by two simple words.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is another potential basis for an actual fic, if I ever find the time and the help to write it. Feedback wanted.

The sound of bubbling oil and the smell of fried shrimp seemed to sink deeply everywhere, if not for the industrial exhaust hood there would have been deep layers of oil to go with the scent. The little bodega style eatery had the air of a place that was steeped in old neighborhood charm, where ten generations of immigrant families plied the trade from the old country and served up family style delights. The miss matched furniture made to follow older building and service code rulings from decades back, the black and white photos with the slightest hints of grease deposits in the corners. The quiet atmosphere of a lazy late afternoon with little foot traffic and the leavings of perhaps a usual lunch crowd in the trash cans.

It belied the fact it was owned and operated by a burnt out software developer and was barely five years old, the former business owning the space having been a copy store.

"Chow any good Sarge?" Nick Wilde asked conversationally as he leaned back and sipped at the soy horchata with cinnamon powder, the remains of his order of fried shrimp tacos gathered in a small pile in the center of his tray. He was nominally vegetarian, but what was a meal of real protein here and there? Just an extra thirty minutes on the elliptical. The faint buzz of the radio mic and speaker at his shoulder was the only real musical accompaniment to their Code 7 meal break. 

Sergeant Riverwatcher grunted as he shoveled another taco, of which he had fifteen of already, into his maw. It was almost hypnotic, the way his jowls wiggled and jiggled as he snacked on the things, punctuating each finishing bite with a gulp of black coffee. 

"Not bad. Maybe you are going to sell me on this Bark thing." He muttered as he wiped his lips with a napkin. Nick whistled as he dipped his nose towards the thick dollop of secret sauce on Riverwatcher's exposed vest. The neat freak in the vulpine officer couldn't help but make him smooth out his own clip on tie as his training officer tended to himself. 

"Yeah, well, I am friends with the owner. So it's not all the app's work." Nick offered with a sly smile.

"Mooching is something the papergrazers don't take too kindly you know." Riverwatcher offered back, unamused.

"Relax, I'm squared up, nothing is breaking ethics." Nick retorted with a chuckle, as if he'd get swallowed up by something like that. Was true, that it could lead to a death of a thousand cuts, but if anyone in IAB was going to go after him...they'd best work hard for their catch...

"...Good...another two shrimp tacos por forvor!" Riverwatcher grunted, waving a massive paw towards the counter-girl. A young high school aged coati with green and black highlights in her fur, and a eyebrow of rings. 

"...yeah...yeah...Jose, another number 3!" She called back towards the pot, where a pot bellied boar snorted as he adjusted his hairnet. She idly noted the order to the growing list on Riverwatcher's check as she played a match three game about cwazy cupcakes.

"Geez, Sarge, ain't your wife going to be mad about you spoiling your dinner?" Nick smirked, he'd pay for that for sure, but the way Riverwatcher's eyes widened and he sputtered was worth it. He was ingratiating himself into this new hierarchy of his, was going great.

"Now Wilde, we ain't, ah, we ain't here to discuss our personal lives, you hear? We're here to, ah. Urm. Eat." Riverwatcher mumbled as the coati lay down another tray for him and he looked at it with concern.

"Su-" Nick began before his ears twitched along with Riverwatcher's. 

"-ode..!"

His thumb came up to crank the volume back on his radio.

"Code 3, Officers in Need of Assistance. Wilshire and Longshanks. Gang related incident in progress, multiple offenders on scene." The calm voice of Marge O'Hallipaw droned as Nick's eyes widened. "Repeat Code..."

"Shit, Locas and NineBois must be-" Riverwatcher began.

"Code 10-00. Code 10-00. Repeat Code 10-00, Wilshire and Longshanks, all cars respond. Officer down. Officer down."

There were no more words after that as Riverwatcher leaped for the door, Nick dropped his drink as he ran after.

"I'll be back Suzie!" Was the only words he could offer as he dined and dashed for the first time since middle school.


	56. An Officer in Zistopia's Court

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What happens when reality and unreality meet, and your very senses and thoughts betray you? What can you do to survive?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of my earlier snippets, written last year, something I am hoping to maybe actually write about one day. The old Judy or Nick in their Zistopia counterparts' bodies thing. Perhaps do something interesting.

It was strange, being on the hook. Lockup. The cells, they were...different, but the locations were the same. This...this nightmare, these memories. It was real. It was real. Nick Wilde let his face set into that sly foxy smile, utter calm, utter calm. Superiority. He was the fox that knew the tricks. Where the hidden strings were. Murder. Where was his shield? His badge. His partner. No...no...he...had to stay strong. Pawsteps, heavy, big. A shadow over the fogged Plexiglas door. His heart made a double beat, as the Plexiglas door slide open, the sound bringing a slight shock.

"Jumpy now, are we?" The rhino asked. He was familiar. Tommy Horns, worked Sahara Town patrol shift supervisor, last Nick recalled Tommy's son got into ZCU on scholarship and the bullpen took him out for drinks. Nick Wilde smirked, and the rhino huffed, clearly amused. This sly fox would bite off more than he could chew. Nick rolled his shoulders as he offered his paws for cuffs, at least he wasn't...muzzled. Interrogation, for murder. The murder of a city employee even. Nick didn't have a clue, but his other self didn't have the stones for murder. Especially here. In this...this atrocity.

The Box was the same though. Strangely enough. Bolted down steel table and chair for the suspect, cuff hoop welded strong. Case file already there.

"You're going to be so sorry you took out that ewe kit, so sorry. Why don't you tell it straight, before the detective gets here and the DA starts throwing down years. Like why is a fox like you hanging around Down Central?" Tommy Horn offered as he flipped the case file open.

Nick Wilde, Zootopia Animal Security Number RF-CV44781[D9], booked on suspected anicide. Some stranger sheep. Some notes paper clipped here and there. A photo, it's him, yeah, that's him...but he never recalled being on that block that day. Or at least the him that was suppose to be here in this world. He had been scouting out a new customer, a month before...the date was shopped. There's that ewe, coming in five minutes after, story wrote it self. Fox ambushed ewe, barely out of lambhood, kidnapped her for some reason and botches it. Kills her...this is a frame job. A big one.

Nick Wilde gives it a good old "eyes wide, who me?" and then he rolls his eyes, Horns huffs.

"Your funeral." Tommy Horns was a better animal than this...smarter with his sweating too. He slammed the door. Less angry too. Nick Wilde glanced up, to the blinking red light on the video only camera in the corner, then forward towards the glass where a Zony Camcorder would be ready for the formal interview. He had been telling Bogo to get the glass replaced, it was too easy to know if no one was in there. The barest seam of light around the bottom edge giving away movements. No one was there.

Now.

It has to be now Nick. Nick Wilde tells himself that as he reaches forward and deftly handles the paperclips. Snip and snap, tension wrench, pick. Standard Rodentia International small animal pawcuffs, old generation, his department had switched to the L1 line when Judy was still in the academy. Judy...he had to get back to her...his last words couldn't be about how that dumpling place made her smell...Nick took a long breath as he undid his cuffs. This place's Nick, he was good at keeping himself calm...making sure there were no shocks when he had the damnable collar on default settings.

Click-clack-clonk.

Nick Wilde was a hustler, 20 years on the streets of Zootopia working the game. It was different then here, crime was different, the game was different...and if it was something he knew, was when someone who didn't play by the established rules came in, they got some grace time. Though it was not Nick Wilde the hustler that would carry him through this, it would be Detective Wilde who knew ZPD Central like the back of his eyelids. The Hustler, he'd help though.

No one watched the live feeds, no that crap was in the basement, getting recorded on the department server. There were no preds on the force here though, it was all prey. That would help...a lot actually.

Nick Wilde shrugged as he tucked his ears, and dipped his chin as he checked the coast was clear. With that he was off. Nick the Cop knew each and every camera in this place, all the blindspots. He knew all the hiding places, ever shadow, ever little nook and crannie. With Nick the Cop, who knew how to be a cop, how to be in place, it was all the easier with how to be invisible. Nick the Hustler's domain. A brain fart, a blink, a slip of the mind, when you don't think, and run on auto. A case file here, a cup there. Lockers, Tundra Town beat patrol. It was before shift change, the place would be empty.

When you cut out the carnivores, the predatory omnivores, you cut off a lot of the big guys and girls. Nick smiled as he saw what he wanted. Rabbit sized lockers. Supply and demand, the workforce was what was available. It would be a tight fit, but he'd manage. Cold Conditions uniform for foot patrol, watch cap to hide his ears, wool collared jacket to hide his collar. Gloves. He needed to tuck his tail, that would pinch, but he needed out. Uniform shirt, padded pants, department issued running spats(had to wear female rabbit's, but hey thank the creator for those big feet). Spare duty belt. Taser...Nick Wilde took it, and with that he put on the radio to his shoulder.

Shift change was coming up. Head down, walk out. You are a cop. Down to the garage, he didn't pause his stride as the shift change crowd came up, all sizes, all types. Herbivores, and a omnivore here or there, pigs mostly. Nothing that could hunt, no sharp teeth or claws. Sharp horns a-okay though.

Don't panic. Nick's heart is steady as a drum as the intercom blares, Linda Lows, Elephant, comms officer is spitting out that a prisoner is unaccounted for. A murder suspect. There is flurry of activity, and he is walking out, towards the garage. Turn towards the mic on your shoulder, try to call something in, be a cop. Nick Wilde let's his eyes flick about, the stair well was there. Everyone looking for him was not looking at him, he was no one to them, just another uniform. He made it, something made him glance though. Make that rookie mistake.

Those deep purple eyes locked onto his baby greens, fear, discovery, a cop, a enemy, one of these crazy animals saw...but it wasn't.

Recognition...no time for that.

He was gone. It was the night shift change over, the motor pool was run by city employees and not real cops. Boris Goregetski, a immigrant pig who still had the motherland accent was still the guy minding the key stall, the sign out. He was a good guy, had four kids, but was lazy. He took naps. Nick Wilde looked down at the name tag on his coat. Y. Lops. No idea who that was. He didn't sign the sheet as he took a set of keys off the hook and got down to a cruiser.

Hotel-22, this was the cruiser he and Judy did their patrol time in. He felt his jaw tighten.

There was no time for that...

The engine purred on, it knocked like it was want to do, and he pulled out. He had a hour tops before someone pulled the recordings, and maybe another hour before someone figured out where he went and noticed a cruiser missing.

...oh no...Wilde Times...there was going to be a family going there tonight.

Kids...

Nick Wilde dug his hands into the wheel, his paw pressing down a little harder on the pedal.

One thing at a time Nicky boy, one thing at a time.


End file.
